Brilliant Eidolon
by Angrybee
Summary: Yuki Eiri is living a frightening lie. And now his actions have put Shuichi in danger. Can Yuki save Shuichi without destroying himself? Rating for Language and sexual themes. Complete.
1. The Lampyridae

DISCLAIMER: Gravitation is the property of Maki Murakami. This story is merely a work of fanfiction, and will not be distributed for profit.   
  
SECOND DISCLAIMER: Gravitation is a work of shounen-ai, and due to this, this story will contain aspects of homosexual or bisexual relationships. If this offends you, please do not read the story.  
  
------------------- Brilliant Eidolon --------------------  
  
-------------------  
  
Chapter 1: The Lampyridae  
  
-------------------  
  
"He was such a nice boy."  
  
That's what they'll say about me. That's what they always say, isn't it, when a terrible secret is finally discovered? "He was such a nice boy. You never would have known. So pleasant as a child. So eager to please. What could have made such a lovely young man into such a monster?"  
  
What, indeed?  
  
This view of me is eidolon, the phantasm of reality. This is only what a person's mind sees. The ideal which we -wish- to view is reflected within faulty ocular globes which filter away the truth. This is eidolon, as spoken by Plato, the soulless physical body, without moral or ethic, detached from God.  
  
This is the lie we prefer to see.  
  
In most cases, I placate myself by recalling that the lie hurts less.  
  
Much, much, less.  
  
When I think about myself, I try to remember that there are, actually, some parts of myself which are not lies.  
  
One. I was born Uesugi Eiri, and to that end, I am still, in some part, Uesugi Eiri, related to those who share my blood. I have heard many say that the bond to one's family is stronger than steel, more intricate than sakura. The people who tell me such things are very old, and in definite danger of being accused of senility. Usually, in fact, by me.  
  
Two. I am, truly, a passable novelist, more by my own inner talent than by training. It is in this endeavor that I usually take solace in knowing that I can actually delight others, rather than seek to destroy them. Though, I must admit, sometimes it is exceptionally hard for me to remember the difference between the two.  
  
Three. I'm living with a complete idiot named Shindou Shuichi.  
  
I wish I wasn't, You don't understand how much I wish I wasn't. I'm such a hypocrite. Such a disgusting hypocrite.  
  
I just hope to hell he never figures it all out.  
  
-------------------------  
  
"You should get a gun. You know, just to be on the safe side."  
  
It's always about this point in our conversation that Seguchi brings up guns. I gaze out the window of his office, watching the clouds float past, carefree. I hate clouds. I hate pretty much anything that reminds me of angels, the heavens, or divinity.  
  
"You wouldn't have to use it. Just..." He strums his fingernails on the desk, smiling sadly, looking at me the same way he always looks at me. Like he's sorry for me. He's sorry. I'm sorry. We're all so fucking sorry around here.  
  
"I'm retired," I reply, ashing my cigarette. He hates it when I smoke. I hate it when he smiles. I guess we're even.  
  
"It doesn't have anything to do with that. You could be attacked. I would be exceptionally relieved if you would exhibit more self-preservation, Eiri-kun." Tohma turns around in his desk chair and stares at the clouds, as well. How...pleasant of us, to watch the sky together. May the clouds part. May the sun peek through and illuminate the city. May the gods see us and strike us dead. "Besides, you told me you were retired last week, and the week before that.  
  
I say nothing. We always have the same conversation. I even know what he's going to ask next.  
  
"How is Shindou-san?"  
  
If words could be made of acid, that question would eat through iron. I think the answer he's expecting is either "Dead" or "Disappeared".  
  
"Do you really care?"  
  
"It's not good for you, and it's not good for him."  
  
"Good? Bad? Morals are a farce. People who embrace them are clinging to the foolish hope of spiritual redemption." Is this over yet? I want to go home. In my home, I can pretend the ugly world beyond my front door has dissolved into nothingness. Humanity is revolting, and every interaction with it assaults me like a war upon my senses, chinking away at the armor I wear, threatening to find a vulnerable spot.  
  
"You know what I mean," Seguchi says, looking back at me over his shoulder. He's ever-so-concerned for me. My savior. My jailer. I'm his little bird in a golden cage. A fragile songbird whose notes form a requiem for the listener. Is he protecting me from the world? Or is he protecting the world from me?  
  
"I know what you mean," I repeat. How can I not? He has such a hypnotic voice. The man could talk a child into murder.  
  
I chuckle inwardly. It's good that I can amuse myself.  
  
I pick the envelope up off his desk and leave. Seguchi doesn't expect me to say 'goodbye'. Oh yes, we're quite past such pleasantries.   
  
This place annoys me. A building full of people, so self-important, so glowing with enthusiasm, so fucking pretty. Sometimes, in my more capricious moods, I stand outside of buildings just like this one, all over Tokyo, and imagine what they would look like, sound like, smell like, if reduced to rubble by some terrible calamity. Mental deconstructionism is a terribly engrossing habit. I indulge in it almost as often as I smoke.  
  
There's about a million fucking halls going in a million fucking directions. Pretentious art. Luminescent linoleum floors. I memorize every detail. I can't help it. Even if I wanted to stop, I couldn't..   
  
Rule number one for writers and murderers: Scrutinize every detail of your surroundings. This will make for interesting filler in a novel someday. And it will keep you alert to possible dangers.  
  
Behind doors, within rooms, I can hear songs. I...  
  
I am reminded how music is magical. Two parts sorcery, one part esoteric science. Those who practice it are dangerous mystics to be feared. They know spells to open secret doors into the heart. And, if they fail to open a willing door, they'll pierce it with bewitched bullets.  
  
Damn them. Damn him. Damn....  
  
"Ssssssssssst."  
  
I look at the water fountain to my left. Is it leaking or something...?  
  
Oh fuck. Fuck.  
  
The head of that damnable pink toy peeks around the side of the fountain, followed by the head of that damnable singer.  
  
And by singer, I mean 'ridiculous shinobi'. Hiding in plain view, my ass. Well, no, I guess it works for him. He is, in fact, probably the most adept intelligence agent I've ever seen. Because he acts so stupid, people tend to just forget he can actually hear what they are saying...  
  
When they even see him at all.  
  
"What do -you- want?"  
  
"Now, see, that's not nice at all, is it Kumagoro? Don't begin to behave like that traitor, or no one will like you ever, na no da."  
  
Argh. I wish I hadn't left home today. I should pick him up by his scrawny little neck, but I think I'd only have a sixty percent chance of coming out of that battle alive. He's smiling at me, sure, but it isn't the same sort of pitying smile as Seguchi. Oh no. The wickedness behind his smirk can't be missed.   
  
"You're still alive, aren't you, Sakuma?"  
  
"I hate you," he says, suddenly serious, slipping out of his hiding place like a serpent in search of prey. I swear the man has bones (and a face) made of rubber. "You know that, right?"  
  
"I don't care." I try to slip past him, but he's suddenly in front of me. He's staring at the floor, his brown hair flopping erratically into his face. No matter how I move, I know he'll mirror it. Left. Right. No use.   
  
Damn ninjas.  
  
"What do you want, Sakuma? Spit it out."  
  
"Psssssssst, Michael." He leans in close to me, motioning with one crooked finger that he wants to whisper something in my ear. I bend down only a few centimeters, reveling in the fact that, at least, I'm still taller than him. "Lampyridae is coming for Shuichi."  
  
My vision goes momentarily black as I begin to panic. No. Hold it in, Eiri. Raphael could just be fucking with you. Yeah. It's has to be one of his sick jokes. It...  
  
I look into his blue eyes, trying to find mirth, or at least mischief. None. None. FUCK!  
  
Now, -now-, I catch the little bastard by his upper arms. He tries not to wince as my fingers dig into him. I'm about ready to snap his arms off and beat him with them. "Where did you hear that? Where?"  
  
He just glares at me, trying to incinerate me with his eyes, trying to burn me with his stare. I let up a bit on my grip, and he squirms the rest of the way out. He hates me. A lot. So, the only reason he'd tell me this would be as a favor to Shuichi. To protect Shuichi. I see. So, the ninja does have a heart, after all.  
  
"What else do you know?"  
  
"They've sent Lucy."  
  
Fuck. "You better not be lying to me."  
  
"Hmmmmmm," he coos, slinking away, disappearing from sight by turning a corner. Nonetheless, his voices floats back at me from the opposite direction than he left. Voice throwing. I forgot that he particularly likes showing off that skill. "Why would -I- betray -you-, Michael? Come on Kumagoro. Let's go look up the word 'fraud' in the dictionary, ne?"  
  
He never lets go of a grudge, does he?  
  
Then again, I never let go of just about...anything.  
  
I hate this world. I hate humanity. The squalid scent of flesh. The insipid chatter. The self-important dance of society, fucking itself like some sort of depraved hermaphrodite. The loathsome shells we are forced to wear, trivial containers for nothingness, our carapaces. I want to shed myself. But, beyond eidolon, for a man of no morals, waits only the monster without a chance at redemption.  
  
I hate this world.  
  
I hate myself.  
  
But Shuichi...  
  
I...am a lie clinging to a phantasm.  
  
And Lucy wants destroy my last hope.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Although I am in a state of near panic, I do manage to keep myself from going to the Bad Luck recording room and dragging Shuichi out by his hair. That would be...suspicious. Besides, Lucy would never come to NG. A third of the people here secretly belong to Exile. There really isn't any safer place for Shuichi to be.  
  
And Gabriel...  
  
I wonder if Gabriel still hates me, too. Not that I care, really. No. He's not the type to hold grudges. That might come in handy if for some reason I need backup. Not that I ever have before, but...  
  
Still, it is good to know.  
  
I wonder if I should tell Seguchi. No. His reaction would be off the scale. Not because of the danger to Shuichi, but because of the danger to me.  
  
Sometimes I wonder why he even signed Bad Luck at all, if he has such an aversion to the boy...  
  
Oh right. He's ever the consummate businessman.  
  
I make my way to the garage. Shuichi is getting a ride home from Nakano, as per usual. Good. Good. When he gets home I...  
  
What am I going to do?  
  
Lampyridae.  
  
Lampyridae. Family of Fireflies. Light-bringers in the night.  
  
What's your game this time, Lucy? Vengeance? Have you finally decided to get your revenge for what I did? Cruelty? Or is this just sport? Are you bored? Is it getting to easy for you?  
  
No. It was always too easy for you.  
  
Bastard.   
  
---------------------------  
  
I didn't lie when I told Shuichi that I didn't want to kill anyone, that I didn't want to kill again. I don't. I truly don't, you have to believe me.   
  
And yet, as I sit here now, shaded by the dark tinting on the windows of my car, flipping through the pictures in the envelope Seguchi gave me, it all comes back to me. The complete shame of having to live with being degraded so thoroughly... The horror of being violated... Being betrayed, truly betrayed by someone who you trust. Afterwards, you can never trust again. You become a ghost, a phantasm walking through a world rife with hideous beings encased in flesh, afraid of everything.  
  
This girl, in these pictures, she can't be more than twelve or thirteen. And the man, this bloated asshole on top of her...in his forties...  
  
In one picture I can see her hand, her fingers spread, covering her face. In the next, he's taken her wrist and pinned it against the pillow. So he can watch her scream, so he can enjoy her sobs...  
  
By the last picture, her naked calf, her tiny foot, hangs over the side of the bed. Limp. She's entirely limp. She's given up on fighting. She's not even crying anymore. Just staring into indeterminate space, her eyes glazed over, too shocked to flee.  
  
She's so young. So...tiny. Smaller even than Shuichi.   
  
It's a few moments before I realize that my fingers are at my lips, crushing against them bruisingly to keep any sound from escaping. Unwanted emotions must be held inside, sometimes by force. Showing emotion, even hidden here in this car, will expose weakness. Every emotion is another tiny mouse hole, another opening for someone to slither their way inside of me.  
  
I, like this girl, will never trust anyone. Ever again. Trust brings nothing but pain. I've never known it to bring anything but pain.  
  
I have walls. Strong walls built over many, many years. No one will ever see the parts of me I've sequestered away for protection.   
  
This girl...will never be able to be innocent. Her first true kiss will be laced with fear and remorse. Every time she wants to love, she'll hear a voice in the back of her head asking, 'Can you truly trust that this person won't hurt you?' She will come to abhor love, and everything associated with it. Though she wants it like the parched desert wants water, in the end, she will turn her back on humanity.  
  
She, too, will build walls. Walls to keep her safe. Walls that imprison her emotions. She will become a captive within her own body.  
  
She will become...an Exile.  
  
I stuff the pictures back into envelope so roughly that I end up with a paper-cut on the fleshy divot between my thumb and forefinger. But the blood...the blood barely even reaches the surface before I put it to my mouth and press my tongue against the wound, trying to seal it closed with saliva.  
  
Things keep trying to leak out of me.  
  
I must be ever-vigilant to keep the world at bay.  
  
Seguchi knows me all too well. He knows us all. I don't want to be a murderer, an assassin. But, how can I sleep with that girl's face staring at me? I'm in danger of feeling...too much.  
  
I could choke on the taste of blood in my mouth.  
  
Bite your cheek, Eiri. Bite your hand.   
  
Anything to hold back the tide...  
  
The rapids are threatening to break the dam...  
  
And destroy me in a river of blood.  
  
----------------------------  
  
By my stopwatch, it takes me only fifty seven minutes and twenty six seconds.   
  
I click the small button, ending the ticking, stopping time. The watch falls from my hand, making a soft "thuft" noise as it comes to rest on the hotel bed. I sit at the foot, looking at the mirror over the dresser, watching my reflection watch me.  
  
I don't feel anything. Nothing. Just nothing. Even when I see my reflection. Even though I look like...  
  
I look like sensei.  
  
I reach up to gingerly touch the brown wig on my head. It's so...lifeless. Not like his hair at all. I touched it once. I told him there was a bug in his hair, but there wasn't. I just wanted to touch his hair. It's horrible to want, to desire...someone. The heroines, in my novels, they always revel in love. They enjoy it. But, no matter how I write it, I can never make myself believe that love doesn't involve anything but blinding pain.  
  
I look just like sensei...with this wig...these contacts. My skin is the same light tone, my lips are just as pale. I've performed some sort of magic, and caused a dead man to rise from his grave.  
  
What am I doing? Am I trying to force him to atone for his sins? Every time I... I'm trying to make him apologize.   
  
Am I sick? Yes. This is such a strange sickness. I can't recognize my face, even though I'm looking at it. Why do I have to become him in this way?   
  
Shuichi is right. I'm fucked up. Is this a certain kind of insanity? I don't even know.  
  
And I just don't know how to stop.  
  
But, I feel nothing now. My entire body is numb. My hands move independently of my mind, slipping off the wig, popping out the contacts. I've successfully fended off yet another attack of that rising tide. I've...removed another monster from the world.  
  
But sensei...you weren't a monster, were you?  
  
I unbutton my shirt, barely able to feel the cold plastic between my fingertips. There's a little blood on the cuff of the right sleeve. I wad the fabric up in my hands and toss it against the wall, never letting my eyes leave the mirror. My shoes are next, followed by my pants. Removing a man's pants is an undignified affair and I hate watching mine slide off...  
  
But Shu...sometimes squirms in a certain way when I...remove his pants...and I forget...  
  
A naked man stares back at me from the mirror.   
  
I lift my hand and push my fingers into my cheek, making sure that I'm still me. Or maybe, maybe I only exist in the mirror now. Maybe I'm gone. Maybe there's no Uesugi Eiri left. Maybe one day I will put on that wig, and I won't be able to take it off again.  
  
There is nothing beautiful about nakedness. Flesh is grotesque, covered in tiny imperfections, ingrown hairs, scars, moles, lines and wrinkles. I'm completely hideous. And, yet, I still don't understand...  
  
Is that why you hated me, sensei?   
  
Is that what you saw when you looked at me?  
  
If you hated me so much, you should have just killed me...  
  
You'd have been doing the world a favor.  
  
I pick up the thick duffle bag at the end of the bed, so thoughtfully provided for me by one of the Seraphim. I stuff everything into it, the clothes I was wearing, my wig, the contacts, and a blood-covered butterfly knife.  
  
Twenty minutes ago, in a hotel not far from here, a rapist begged me for his life. He begged for my forgiveness. But, forgiveness never comes for the truly wicked. It will never come for me. It will never come for him.  
  
Fifteen minutes ago, I dropped an envelope containing very damning pictures at the feet of a dead man.  
  
Right now, I turn towards the dresser and begin to put on my own clothes once again. Shimmying into my pants, slipping on my shirt, sliding my sunglasses onto my face. I become...Yuki Eiri, romance novelist.  
  
Fifteen minutes from now, one of the lesser employees of Exile, known as the Seraphim, will slip into this hotel room. He will pick up this duffel bag, take it out of this hotel, and disappear. Everything inside will be burned.  
  
Fire...  
  
Is such a cleansing force.  
  
"If there is a fiery hell, I imagine it to be brilliant and pure. Burning away at this ridiculous body, removing monsters from the world, lightly bestowing calming nothingness with a soft kiss of flame."  
  
That's the last thing Uriel ever said to me...  
  
Before he left Exile...and formed the Lampyridae.  
  
Our fallen angel, who turned his back on hope and walked away.  
  
We call him Lucifer.  
  
Lucy for short.  
  
---------------------------  
  
Rule number two of writers and murderers: Always know who you are up against. If you don't, you're doomed.  
  
I pull the car up to the curb, not caring that it's a yellow zone, and step out. I'm not going to be here long.  
  
Tungesh-san waves apathetically to me from behind his counter at the newsstand. It's a hot day, and he's got a small electric fan pulled up close, causing beads of sweat to dry on his dark skin. The edges of various publications curl and flip in the manufactured breeze. Indian music washes over the road, coating it in curried sound. There's no one standing around looking at magazines or newspapers. I wouldn't have stopped if there were.  
  
"Uesugi-san," Tungesh says, bowing only minimally. I've been coming to his stand for years. It's close to my flat, and Tungesh doesn't ask too many questions. We've struck up a minimal association based on the fact that we smoke the same brand of cigarettes, we both speak English, and we're both writers. But, Tungesh writes a small newspaper for the Indian population of Tokyo. So, we're not rivals. "I've got everything packaged up for you, already."  
  
He hands me the bundle. Four magazines, a carton of cigarettes, a case of beer, and...a paperback?  
  
"The newest Palahniuk," Tungesh says, motioning with two fingers towards the book, "I'm finished with it."  
  
I nod. We've established some sort of loose book trade, the two of us. He won't tell me if he thinks it is good or bad beforehand. But, we'll discuss it briefly after I read it. Tungesh is one of the few people who doesn't really care that I'm a famous writer. He just likes having someone with which to discuss books.  
  
"How's your wife?" I ask distractedly, looking down at the candy rack.  
  
"Fat and whiny. How's yours?"  
  
I glare at him. Did I mention that he thinks he's funny?  
  
Tungesh merely shrugs and leans back on his stool, crossing his arms as he nods towards the package under my arm. "You're up two."  
  
Two? Only two? Shit. That means...  
  
"I read his book, you know. It was crap."  
  
"Yeah, but your opinion is for shit. It's all that Camus infecting your brain."  
  
"Nothing wrong with the existentialists, Uesugi-san. They had some great ideas."  
  
For a moment, I forget that only an hour ago, I killed a man. I like this illusion, this lie. I like the world where I'm a literary snob who writes schlock to appease the masses. Someday...someday I'm going to write a real book. Someday...when I escape my past...when I no longer need the vapid illusions I create in those novels...I will write something containing truth...  
  
"Heh. You want the candies Shindou-san likes?"  
  
I guess I've been leering at the Pocky. I can never remember which kind he likes best. He's going to rot his teeth out if he keeps eating this sort of crap but...  
  
At least he shuts up when I take it out of my desk and give it to him.  
  
Yeah, that's why I do it. To make him quiet.  
  
Tungesh doesn't even wait for my answer. He rings up three boxes of Pocky along with the rest of my order. "See you later, Uesugi-san," he says as I head towards my car, "And get some sleep. You look like crap."  
  
Unlocking the door, I slide into the car. I set the package down on the passenger seat.  
  
I...should look...  
  
No. I can wait two minutes until I get home.  
  
No. I should look. I'm up two. That would put me at five.  
  
Shit.  
  
I let the car idle as I slip the trade magazine 'Letters' out of the paper bag.   
  
Flip. Flip. Flip.  
  
Where is it? Where's the chart? Goddamnit. If he's...  
  
There. On page nine. 'This Week's Bestsellers'.  
  
Damn. It's just like Tungesh said. I'm at five. Five. Below a celebrity-written cookbook, an autobiography of a politician, a recently translated Stephen King novel, and...  
  
-That- fucker.  
  
Akasugi Naoko and that gay piece of tripe 'Pianissimo Butterfly' is at number one.  
  
I've got to get a new publicist. Akasugi is such a fucking asshole, anyway. Won't even do signings or interviews. Women swoon, thinking he's so mysterious, so dark and troubled. But, really, his handlers just won't let him go out in public because he's a complete moron.  
  
I can't even beat the shounen-ai market. Fuck.  
  
Maybe I should start writing for...  
  
No. That would give Shuichi entirely too many ideas.  
  
I stuff the magazine back into the bag and take off down the road.  
  
Motherfucking hell.  
  
Could this day get any worse?  
  
-------------------------------  
  
"She lay strewn across the bed like exquisite roadkill, massacred by his touches. He watched from near the open window, dividing his time between contemplation of her svelte legs, and the street traffic below. 'Tangerine'. She'd said her name was 'Tangerine', but she tasted like plums..."  
  
I've now read this same paragraph upwards of forty times. Except, I'm never really reading it. My eyes pass over the words on my computer screen, unseeing.   
  
Who tastes like plums, anyway? People taste of soap, and sweat, and whatever they had for dinner. No one tastes like fruit.  
  
Well, Shuichi does -smell- a bit fruity, sometimes. But, that's completely different.  
  
Hn. Shuichi.  
  
Shuichi who, two years ago, somehow insinuated himself into my life. Shuichi who...without fail...tells me every day that he loves me. Pretty, smiling Shuichi, who would do anything for me, is now in danger because I wasn't clever enough to push him away when I still had the chance. No. I wasn't strong enough. I'm weak. And greedy. I thought maybe...I could...have something...  
  
The Lampyridae are coming for Shuichi, or so the idiot shinobi says. When will they come? What's your plan, Lucy? You want to torture me. You want to make me suffer, so...  
  
You'll make Shuichi suffer.  
  
I press a three-button sequence, and my manuscript disappears, replaced with a map of Tokyo. Shuichi is...hm...four blocks away. He must have had Hiro stop off at Tungesh's for some reason.  
  
Is it mildly obsessive to put a tracking device in your lover's cellphone?  
  
Probably.  
  
He was so ecstatic when I gave him that new phone. He was jumping on the couch, acting like I'd just handed him an engagement ring or something. "Oh Eiri," he said looking at me with those sparkling eyes of his, already half-ready to cry, "It's so great. It's even the kind that takes pictures."  
  
Yeah. So, now, instead of getting phone calls every half hour, I receive a bevy of photographs directly to my email. I don't know if you can exactly call that 'progress'.  
  
For now, I suppose, I will have to play Lucy's game. I don't think he'll kill Shuichi...  
  
I don't think he will, but...  
  
There's always the possibility that Lucy will hurt Shuichi in some way. He wants to get to me, and Shuichi is the easiest way to do so. Lucy won't go after Mika, because she's too close to Seguchi. He's got her under massive protection, even though she doesn't know it. Sweet maids who are actually trained in sixteen different forms of combat. Drivers who are ex-government agents. Mika is protected. And Tatsuha...  
  
Heh. He won't go after Tatsuha. Lucy is...superstitious about the whole religious thing.  
  
I flip back to my manuscript and close my eyes. The problem is that we don't know what Lucy looks like anymore. After he left Exile, Seguchi and I tried to track him. Paris. Moscow. London. And then the trail disappeared. Lucy has a new identity, probably a new face and voice, as well. Even that stupid shinobi couldn't find anything out.   
  
"...she tasted like plums..."  
  
Shuichi, why did you come into my life? Don't you have any sense of self-preservation? No. You're always plunging head first into everything. How is it...that you don't care if you get hurt? Over, and over, and over, you get hurt. And it never changes you.   
  
After these two years, I still don't understand you. I don't understand why you stay. I don't understand what you think I can give you. I don't understand why...  
  
You still smile at me.  
  
I thought you'd get bored with me. I thought you'd leave. But you just keep...  
  
Coming home.  
  
"Tadaima!"  
  
"...she tasted like plums..."  
  
Delete. Delete. Delete. No one tastes like fruit. That's just stupid, and no one will buy it. Plums are nasty, anyway. Who eats plums? Who goes to a fancy restaurant and says 'Give me a goddamn plum'? Nobody.  
  
Mmm. That feels...nice. I wonder...  
  
Small, but surprisingly strong, hands press against my shoulders and begin to knead my muscles. He slips down to my shoulder blades, working out the knots as deftly as a trained masseur. How does he know how to do that? Ah. Ah. I'm going to turn into putty. I won't be able to get any work done like this. I'll fall asleep at my keyboard.  
  
"Stop that."  
  
But, he doesn't. I feel his nose rooting around at the nape of my neck, brushing back and forth across one of my vertebra, tickling a patch of short hairs with his breath. "You're tense. Bad day, huh?"  
  
I only grunt in response. I'm not sure if it's because he hit the nail on the head, or if it's because I'm slowly being reduced to the mental capacity of a caveman. Shuichi always seems to have the ability to make me utterly stupid. He's such an idiot that he obliterates rational thought by his mere presence.  
  
"I had a good day, though," he says, nibbling at my neck. He picks one spot and decides to torture it with his teeth and tongue. "We finished the new CD way ahead of schedule for once. I'm so excited."  
  
Of course you are, Shuichi. You're excited about everything. You even get excited buying bath towels.  
  
Bath...hm...  
  
Maybe we should do that...sometime soon.  
  
"You smell good," he whispers in my ear before pressing his face against my shoulder and inhaling deeply. "I love the way you smell."  
  
"You're a moron. I smell like cigarettes. Like smoke..."  
  
"Mmhm. Just like that."  
  
Waifish arms wrap around me, holding me in place. When he does that, I just don't know what to do. It makes me realize...that in this relationship, or whatever you want to call it, Shuichi is the strong one. Shuichi can endure everything. He's rubber boy, eternally bouncing back into place. And I...  
  
I'm the one who might just break. At any moment...  
  
I'm always just barely holding it all together.  
  
Why...did it have to be...Shuichi?   
  
I want to stop, Shuichi. I do. I want to live in this lie with you, forever. I want to be good to you, to be a decent person, someone who makes you happy, someone who makes you proud. But, I'm frightened. I'm scared that you'll leave me. I'm scared to see you really hurt by me, or by something I've done. But...most of all, Shuichi...I'm scared...  
  
That you're going to break down my walls. That you'll break me...  
  
Because you're rubber, but I'm only glass.  
  
"You're trembling," he says.  
  
"It's cold."  
  
Shuichi laughs, crisp and clear, a wind-chime that sounds just for me. "That's because you keep it like a fridge in here. Don't worry, I'll warm you up." He leans forward and licks my jaw playfully, like some sort of kitten, leaving a thick slime of spit in his wake.  
  
"Gross, brat. Just gross." I wipe at the damage with the back of my sleeve.  
  
Shuichi giggles and smacks his lips in my ear...  
  
"Mmm. Yummy. You taste just like plums."  
  
-------------------------------  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Shuichi goes off to 'work', but Eiri finds out Shu isn't at NG. When Eiri tracks Shuichi to an odd part of Tokyo...he finds something he never expected. Will Eiri find out anything more about Lucy's plans? Stay with us to go further into the lies, to expose more of the phantasm, in the next chapter of Brilliant Eidolon.  
  
Author Note:  
  
I'm pretty sure no one will be interested in this story, since...well, I've made Yuki Eiri into a serial killer, and introduced a lot of pretty far out elements. People tend to not like that sort of thing, I fear. Well, we'll see what happens. I hope you'll stick with it for a few chapters before giving it a thumbs down. :D Well, until next time... Oh, it's not all going to be depressing, either. There should be some funny bits, too.  
  
Chapter Lexicon:  
  
Exile: Some sort of clandestine vigilante organization created by Seguchi Tohma. The top operatives are named after archangels, and the lesser employees are called "Seraphim".  
  
Michael: Yuki Eiri Raphael: Sakuma Ryuichi Gabriel: ? Uriel: Was a former operative who left for a yet unexplained reason to form the Lampyridae.  
  
The Lampyridae: Another clandestine organization, which appears to have goals inimical to Exile's. Their top operative is the former Uriel, and is now referred to by members of Exile as "Lucifer", Lucy for short. 


	2. Burning Kitazawa

----------------------------------  
  
Chapter 2: Burning Kitazawa  
  
----------------------------------  
  
I hate many things on this planet, but perhaps, at this moment, I hate nothing more than morning.  
  
You know, if the sun set and never rose again, I don't think I would be exceptionally bereaved of its presence.  
  
"Eiri. Phone for you!"  
  
"Callbacklater," I grumble, and pull the pillow over my head. I woke up with a goddamn headache, and he's not helping one bit.  
  
"Mizuki-chan, he's being grumpy. Can he call you back?"  
  
I'm up in a flash, trying to get the phone from Shuichi, who is already bathed and dressed. He went to bed at eleven o'clock. I, on the other hand, stayed up until three in the morning working on 'Tangerine'. Shuichi moves his hand out of the way, holding the phone behind his back.  
  
"Give me the phone, brat."  
  
"Give me a good morning kiss?"  
  
"GIVE. ME. THE. PHONE."  
  
I try to lunge at him, but due to the fact that I'm all tangled up in the sheets, like a fly in a spider web, I take a dive off the bed. My head hits the floor with a resounding thud. When my vision finally clears, Shuichi is upside-down. He kneels next to me, laughing softly, and gently places his lips against my forehead.  
  
"Kiss it better for you?" he whispers, slipping the phone into my fingers.  
  
"Well, it is your fault, after all, baka."  
  
"Hehehehehe." Shuichi crooks one finger and pushes some errant hairs behind my ear. The mere brush of a touch against one of my decidedly more sensitive spots makes me have to suppress the urge to thrash about like a fish on a hook. "I'm off to work, okay?"  
  
"I thought you were done with your album."  
  
"Well, just because we finished recording doesn't mean all the work is done.   
  
Fuck. I thought...I thought he was going to have some time off, now. If he's out and about...then Lucy... No. It's okay. NG is alright. He's protected there. And, with Shuichi in a safe place, that will give me time to investigate.  
  
"I'll be back around seven," Shu says, standing up. He looks infinitely taller from this angle. "Later, gator!"  
  
"Shu..." Don't go. Stay here today, with me. We could...you know...stay in bed or watch TV or... No. Nevermind. That was an odd impulse...for so early in the morning. I guess I'm just tired.  
  
"Hmmmm?"  
  
"Don't forget your phone."  
  
"Okay! Bye!" Shuichi slips out of the room, filled with enough energy to power a large carnival, and disappears down the hall.  
  
Hm. He didn't tell me he loved me. I wonder why he...didn't say...  
  
A static laden voice comes from my hand, "Yuki-san? Are you there? Hello? Hello?"  
  
I put the cellphone to my ear as I try to untangle myself from the sheets and get my body into a sitting position. Not that Mizuki much cares if I am sitting, or standing, or freakin' about to set myself on fire and leap off a building as long as the book is done on time.  
  
"It's not done," I say. I wonder if she is going to call me every day for the next three weeks.  
  
"Hm? Oh yes. Good. I'm extending your deadline, anyway. We want to put it out when summer is in full-spin. Too many people are trying to corner the summer book market by releasing in May, but I am delaying yours until June and... Nevermind. That's not why I called."  
  
Cigarettes. I need...cigarettes. And a lighter. Where the hell is my... Oh, there it is. Now I need my glasses. I'm the fucking undead this morning. I never sleep well... Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I slept more than two or three hours straight. "Why did you call, then?"  
  
"You have to get dressed, right away. There's a luncheon, a fundraiser, that I just found out about this morning, and you -need- to go."  
  
"No." That's the absolute -last- thing I -need- to do today. "I don't give a fuck about the whales, the homeless, or the illiterate deforested wombat of Nigeria."  
  
"No, no. It's not..." Mizuki mumbles something to someone who walked into her office, something about coffee, and then returns to our conversation. "It's to raise money for a library for the Wildflower House in Kisarazu. But, that's not what's important. You have to go. Akasugi Naoko is going to be there..."  
  
What the fuck? That guy never leaves his house! Why is he showing up at some two-bit fundraiser luncheon?  
  
"And if he shows up, and you're not there to take some of the spotlight away from him, his 'good deed' is going to totally kill us in the trades next week."  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
If there is a God, if there is someone looking down on us, judging us from above...  
  
I'm absolutely certain he hates me with a special sort of loathing.   
  
He hates me the way Indiana Jones hates snakes.  
  
I hang up on Mizuki after getting the address, and dial another number. No reason to keep from multitasking. I can do this. I can manage this. A man answers, his British accent thick and syrupy over his Japanese.  
  
"Music library. Tag here."  
  
"Get me everything on the movements of the Lampyridae over the past two years."  
  
"That you, Michael? You should come visit. I've got some great new cigars."  
  
Grrrr. I'm too sleepy. I scrounge around in my brain, trying to find my social skills. They've got to be in there somewhere. "Yeah. That sounds great. Are you going to get the goddamn files, or what?"  
  
"That's a lot of stuff, but...I think I can send you a sizeable bulk of it in a couple of hours. Will that work?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
For once...  
  
Someone is helpful.  
  
"And Tag...don't tell Seguchi."  
  
-------------------------------  
  
I hate these affairs. Completely ludicrous events. I look at the plates and dishes in front of me. So, kids at this Wildflower House need a library? Is that it? Well, why not sell this goddamn gold-edged dinnerware? The porcelain vase in the middle of the table, the one containing a very expensive flower arrangement, why not sell it? It takes a phenomenal amount of money to put on one of these swank affairs. So why not just donate it instead of wasting my time?  
  
I will tell you why. Because some old biddy wants to show off for her throng of friends, that's why. These old women have nothing better to do than spend their time making a circus out of philanthropy.  
  
"I'm so glad you came, Yuki-san," the wrinkled old Yuugai-san says, deigning to pat my hand with hers. She's wearing about five hundred rings. It's amazing that the old bat can even lift her arm. "My friends and I all adore your writing." She leans close to me, her thick kimono rustling with every movement. Good lord, her breath smells like salmon. "And between you and me, you're so much more dignified than that one."  
  
She nods her head towards the end of the table.   
  
Akasugi.  
  
The man looks like some sort of lost space alien. He's wearing a long-sleeved black dress. A dress, for fucksakes. The metallic blue piping and insets match the shocking blue highlights in his black hair, which, like his face, appears to be slathered in glitter. And, to top it all off, the man is wearing a pair of costume butterfly wings.  
  
What a foppish idiot.  
  
No wonder his people don't let him go outside.   
  
I've never seen him in person before, though. He's so pale, you can almost see the blue-green veins beneath his skin. And he's so fucking thin, I suspect that if he walked outside, a slight breeze might carry him away.  
  
Oh, that's right. He's a vegetarian. The lack of meat must be getting to his brain.  
  
Nonetheless, I can tell...with one look at that lean face...those grey eyes...he's a predator. He's here for some reason -other- than charity.   
  
"Are you alright, Yuki-san?" Yuugai-san asks, patting my hand again. Damnable touchy-feely decrepit nutter.  
  
"Yes, thank you," I reply, pulling my hand away as I stand up, "I'm just in need of some air. If you will excuse me for a moment."  
  
Yuugai-san smiles, stars in her wrinkle-lined eyes, "Of course. I hope you'll be back in time for the auction?"  
  
I nod and make my way through the room. There's probably about five dozen people here, and another two dozen perusing the items up for auction in the next room over. The formal hall is a grossly opulent affair, overblown with antique chandeliers and heavy oil paintings adorning the walls. It reminds me of something from a Bronte novel. Not that I read that sort of crap for anything more than research, of course.  
  
I make my way to the French doors and out onto the balcony. I need a smoke, and to calculate exactly how much more time I need to spend here before making an exit that isn't considered rude.   
  
I should be writing.  
  
I should be tracking down Lucy.  
  
I should be trying to figure out what to do about the rock star that has installed himself in my house.  
  
I should be doing any of these things, but instead, I am trapped here, in this insane farce, with society's privileged class of completely useless wastes of flesh, auctioning off several signed first editions. If they wanted money, I would have given them money. That would have been mildly respectable. But, no, this is like a meat market, and I am the next fucking whore up for sale.  
  
I lean against the stone railing, mildly amused that someone has actually gone through the trouble of importing the world's most hideous gothic architecture to Japan. At least the garden is still a traditional one. The sound of the small pond is utterly soothing. I wonder if anyone will notice if I just hang out here for an hour or two...  
  
"Yuki Eiri-san, isn't it?"  
  
Let me die now. As soon as I get home, I'm calling Mizuki and demanding she hang herself.  
  
His voice is a lot lower and quieter than I expected. Of course, -I- expected him to sound like a muppet. Nonetheless, it slices with a knowing edge, mild flippancy hidden beneath politeness, a razor blade hidden in molasses. "I was so glad you showed up here. You know, I only came because my publicist said you'd been invited."  
  
I turn around, exhaling smoke in his direction. Unfortunately, Akasugi's standing too far away to be encompassed by the cloud. He raises his hand and pets a trellis of ivy, as if it were some sort of small furry animal.  
  
"Strange," I reply, "I had no idea you were going to be here."  
  
The presumptuous smile on his face slips a couple of millimeters. Ahh, take him down a notch, that's it.  
  
"A lovely charity, don't you think? Mmm. Yes. But me, I'm not much of one for these affairs. Entirely too depressing." Akasugi steps forward, the outdoor air catching his plastic and gauze wings, making them twitch slightly. He looks a great deal like a dying insect, now that I think about it.. When he's within arm's reach of me, Akasugi slides his rump onto the concrete railing. Staring at me with manufactured intensity, Akasugi continues, "I've read all of your books, you know? Even 'Smoke and Mirrors'. I think the critics were far too harsh on it. It's a bewitching tale. You have such a remarkable talent for tragedy."  
  
You have no idea, asshole.  
  
"I'm afraid I've never read any of yours," I say. Maybe if I am rude enough, he'll get the point and drift away.   
  
"Now..." Akusugi licks his lips, very deliberately. Is he...trying to seduce me? He wouldn't be...trying to score a cheap fuck, would he? "I don't think that's true, Yuki-san. What is it you said about me in 'Letters' two months ago? Hm? What was it?" Akasugi taps one of his hideously long fingernails against his cheek, "Oh yes. 'Akasugi-san's book 'Rhapsody' will appeal only to hormonal teenage girls and a population of lonely middle-aged gay men.' Tsk tsk."  
  
I wonder. If I push him off the railing, will he hit his head hard enough on the stone walkway below to make him permanently brain damaged? Hm. Probably not any more than he already is. Crap.  
  
"You're pretty when you lie, Yuki Eiri."  
  
How do you say 'Go play in rush hour traffic' in the language of flamingly gay butterfly men?  
  
I opt for the straightforward route. "I'm not interested."  
  
The smirk on Akasugi's face widens as he shakes his head, tossing his hair around for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I guess he thinks he's sexy. And, maybe he is...but I'm not into men. No, I mean...there's Shuichi...and some others before that but...   
  
No, it's not that I dislike men. Or women, for that matter. I'm just not...into -people-. Well, long-term relationships with people, anyway. No, that's not it, either. I...  
  
Why am I turning down Akasugi?  
  
It's not like Shuichi would ever know. And why should I care if he did? I mean, maybe he'd leave me, then. Wouldn't that be better for him, anyway? I'm never going to be able to become what Shuichi wants...no...what Shuichi deserves.  
  
I just...  
  
I'm not interested in Akasugi.  
  
That's it. That's all it is. He's just not my type. That's all.  
  
Do I have a type?  
  
Akasugi leans back on his hands and raises one of his feet. He rubs the toe of his blue velvet slipper against my pants, sliding it down my thigh and into the crook of my knee. Unfortunately, I flinch. "Oh, but I'm interested in you, Yuki Eiri. Very interested. You might even say...that I'm fascinated. And when Naoko-chan gets fascinated by something pretty, he chases it, no matter where it might run."  
  
"Go right ahead," I reply, thinking utterly devious thoughts. I take the end of my cigarette and apply it forcibly to the side of his slipper. The velvet sizzles and smokes as the fire extinguishes. Akasugi yelps like an injured dog and jerks his foot away. "Just find some more sensible shoes before you try it."  
  
As I walk back towards the reception hall, I hear Akasugi moaning softly about his 'burnt footsie'.  
  
That should deter him from ever talking to me again.  
  
Finally, finally...  
  
Score one for Yuki Eiri...  
  
And the devastating power of the cigarette.  
  
------------------------------  
  
By the time I return home, it's almost two o'clock in the afternoon. I take off my suit and put on something more comfortable. I click my email to find that, yes, in fact Tag -has- sent me the files I requested.   
  
I dash off a quick email...  
  
---   
Email To: Mizuki(at)looseleaf.com.jp   
From: saintsebastian(at)looseleaf.com.jp   
Subject: Damnit.  
  
Mizuki,  
  
I'm serious. No more charity functions. AND ABSOLUTELY UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL YOU EVER SCHEDULE ME TO BE WITHIN ONE MILE OF AKASUGI NAOKO. Or, I swear, my next novel will be written on strips of your dried flesh.  
  
E.  
  
P.S. Here's the sixth chapter of 'Tangerine'. Can you suggest ways to rearrange the diner scene so it flows better?  
  
---  
  
After I delete the sentence containing the threat, I send off the email and get to work. Tag's sent me volumes and volumes of stuff. I hate to see what else he has in his file cabinets. As Lead Researcher for Exile, Tag knows more about Lampyridae than probably even Seguchi.  
  
According to the files, Lampyridae's headquarters is suspected to currently be in Kyoto. They aren't really active here in Tokyo, probably because they are afraid of Exile getting involved.. As far as Exile's researchers can tell, Lucy has structured Lampyridae much like Exile. There are a half-dozen top operatives, supported by a staff of lesser agents.   
  
And then I get into the suspected Lampyridae actions over the past few months...  
  
And I feel mildly ill.  
  
Killing people is killing people, sure. It's butchery, no matter how you look at it. I'm sure that the man I killed yesterday had a wife. I know he did. He had a wedding ring. But, he was a predator. A monster attacking little girls. Exile never...I don't...  
  
I don't kill for sport. Or for money. I hate people, but I don't kill them because I hate them. I just want...to save someone from...  
  
Becoming me.  
  
But he... He likes what he does. He likes to make them suffer.  
  
Lucy believes that pain redeems you.  
  
And if you experience hell on Earth, you've been purified, you've been cleansed...made immaculate. Lucy sends them back to their creator, pre-punished.  
  
He wasn't always so cruel. This sickness is new.  
  
I rather liked him when he was Uriel...  
  
When he was my partner.  
  
Now...now he's coming for me. I guess he feels it's time that I become pure again. But, why Shuichi? Why involve Shuichi? Even Lucy wouldn't go so far, would he, as to destroy an innocent just to make me pay.  
  
Would he?  
  
-------------------------------  
  
I spend most of the early afternoon delving into file after file. There's so much information that it is mind boggling. Unfortunately, less than one percent of it is useful. According to the files, Lampyridae has ties to the yakuza. Ties to the Italian mafia. Ties to the CIA. Lampyridae has suspected investments in the media. In the music industry. In movies. Sports. Industry. Corporations. Convenience stores. Designer fashion. There's even a small essay on the possibility that the Lampyridae run kiddie porn sites just to find perverts. It's all so much unsubstantiated crap. Except for the police files on the assassinations we believe to have been done by Lucy or one of his agents, the whole thing reads like the fucking Illuminatus Trilogy.  
  
After about the five hundredth file, and god knows how many cigarettes, my eyes begin to get blurry. I need a break. This stuff is going to make me psychotic.  
  
If I'm not already, which is a possibility I -have- considered.  
  
That would be a terribly -convenient- excuse for my behavior, wouldn't it?  
  
Shit. I need a beer or six.  
  
But, something...is...odd...suddenly. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Immediately, my hand slips underneath my desk, as I search for the latch to the secreted drawer containing my emergency weapon.  
  
It's just a small knife. It's not like I keep guns here, or anything. I don't like guns. And, if Shuichi ever found it...I'd just tell him that it was because I was worried about the paparazzi breaking into my flat.  
  
See? I have everything under control. I am the master of my domain. Nothing gets by me, because I am always alert, and -always- prepared.  
  
"Kumagoro says you'd have to be pretty fast to kill us with that little butter knife, Michael."  
  
WHAT. THE. FUCK?  
  
I spin around in my chair to find a grinning Sakuma Ryuichi, his stupid stuffed toy in tow, sitting on the divan in my office. He plasters the most triumphantly victorious grin on his face and tosses the toy up in the air, catching it a second later on his head.  
  
Rule number three for writers and assassins: All the ninjas, be they real or fictional, have to die.  
  
No. Strike that. I don't like that rule. Too pithy.  
  
Hm. I wonder if Tangerine should turn out to be a ninja. Chicks dig strong women who also happen to be very emotionally vulnerable, don't they? Maybe Mizuki could get it made into some sort of shoujo video game.  
  
Fuck. No time to think about that. There's a shinobi with a shit-eating grin sitting in my office.   
  
"How the fuck did -you- get in here? Nevermind. I don't care. Just leave."  
  
"Kumagoro stole Shuichi's key three months ago and made a copy. You know, Michael, just between you and I, I think Kuma-chan's been entertaining thoughts of strangling you in your sleep. He's one bad motherbunny....shut yo' mouth!"  
  
What do I have to do to get him to -leave-? Maybe leave a trail of Pocky to the door? "Get out of my goddamn house, Raphael."  
  
"Mm. Don't you want to know why I'm here?" Sakuma stands up and skips to the door, "Follow the bouncing bunny, Michael. Follow. Follow, na no da. There's something you need to see."  
  
Reluctantly, I pry myself out of my chair, rolling my eyes as much as humanly possible, and engage in a game of follow-the-idiot. He leads me into the living room and heads straight for my television. After trying to convince the damn toy to turn it on, he gives up and finally does it himself.  
  
The picture pops in, and Raphael jumps backwards, almost as if he were startled that he figured out how to work the damn thing.  
  
"Look!" He points at the screen, and then peers over his shoulder at me.  
  
A newscaster is standing in front of a burning building, speaking so rapidly that it takes a moment for me to parse her words. "...fire broke out in the Kitazawa shopping district today. Although it has since been quelled, the empty warehouse you see behind me has been completely destroyed. Thankfully, no one is thought to have been injured in the blaze. Police have not yet found a cause for the fire, but one unnamed source has reported that arson is possibly involved..."  
  
"So?" I ask.  
  
"The warehouse belonged to White Angel Industries. They make toilet paper, na no da. Really soft stuff." The idiot shinobi tilts his head to one side, and then the other, blinking at me. "Think about it, Michael."  
  
Kitazawa. Angels. Oh, I get it alright. You could have just emailed me, Lucy, if you wanted to leave a message.  
  
"This is all because of you! Shuichi is in trouble, and it is all your fault." Sakuma storms up to me and pokes me in the chest with an outstretched finger, "Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself? Why is it that everyone around you ends up insane or hurt? You know, I really wish you'd joined Lampyridae when you had the chance. Because then...then Shu-chan...then..."  
  
I grab his finger and push him away. He's got a lot of tricks, that ninja, but he's not particularly strong. Sakuma stumbles backwards, losing the toy in the process. He bends down, scrambling for the thing as if he can't stand to be parted with it for even a second.   
  
Sometimes...I just don't understand him.  
  
"I can handle this myself," I say, walking to the door and opening it. Maybe he'll get the fucking idea, for once. "Nobody knows..."  
  
"Nobody knows Lucy like you do, is that right, na no da? But, Michael, don't you realize it goes the other way, too? No one knows you, like Lucy." Sakuma strides out the door, marching like a lost soldier in the battle for his own sanity, "Say, Kumagoro, I wonder where Shuichi is...right now. Don't you?"  
  
I slam the door behind him and race to my computer.  
  
Shuichi will be at NG. Of course he will be. Why would he go anywhere else? And, even if he did go somewhere, Gabriel would shoot anyone who got within twenty feet of Shuichi. I mean that was the whole point of me asking Seguchi to make him Shu's manager.  
  
I press the key sequence to bring up the map of Tokyo. Shuichi is...  
  
Not. At. NG.  
  
But, at least he's not anywhere near the Kitazawa shopping district. Where the hell is that? That's a residential district on the east side of Tokyo. Why is Shuichi -there-?  
  
I should call him.  
  
No. No, I shouldn't.  
  
Yes. Yes I should. Maybe he's been kidnapped.  
  
Well, maybe he -hasn't- been kidnapped, and then he's going to want to know why I called.  
  
I'll call NG. That's it. I'll call the recording studio at NG. Maybe they will know where he is, and why.  
  
I pick up the phone and dial the Bad Luck studio.   
  
"Good afternoon, Sakano here. How may I be of assistance today?"  
  
Something about that man's voice just makes me cringe. He's just...he's...too polite. Either Sakano is truly the nicest, most naive guy in the music industry, or he's hiding some burning secret behind those glasses. Seguchi seems to like him well enough, though.  
  
"Where's Shuichi?"  
  
"Yuki-san, is that you? Shindou-san? Oh he's...well..." Sakano trails off, as if thinking up a lie. I hate people who can't lie well. Well, I suppose that isn't true. Shuichi can't lie worth a damn, and I don't loathe him. Generally find myself annoyed by him, yes, loathe him, no. "Shindou-san isn't scheduled to be in the studio today. I do hope there isn't any trouble between you and him?"  
  
"That's none of your business. I just want to know where he is."  
  
"I couldn't say, Yuki-san. Should we be worried for Shindou-san, for some reason?"  
  
"No."  
  
I hang up the phone without so much as a goodbye. Alright. Alright. Now is not the time to panic. I am not the sort of person who panics. I know right where Shuichi is. I can see it on the map in front of my face.  
  
There is no reason to freak out.  
  
Why am I freaking out?  
  
I pick up the phone and dial Shuichi. It rings five times before he picks up. Five. He always answers right away when it's me...  
  
"Helloooo!" Shuichi says, sounding as bubbly as ever, "Eiri! Hello! You called me! You never call me!"  
  
I guess there was no reason to panic, after all. Still I... I wonder where he is. Not that I care. Shuichi can do whatever he wants. I'm just worried because there's a crazed killer on the loose. That's the only reason...  
  
"Shu..."  
  
"Hmmm? What's up?"  
  
"Do you..." How do I find out what he is doing without asking him, point blank? "Do you need me to pick you up after work, or will Nakano-san be bringing you home?"  
  
"Uh...um..." What's that sound in the background? Is that a man's voice? Who is that? "No, that's really sweet of you, but I'm...uh...I've already called a taxi to pick me up from NG, so, don't worry about it. Say, did you see on the news about the fire at the Kitazawa shopping district? That's so scary, isn't it? That warehouse was right next door to one of the NG CD shipping warehouses. Good thing the fire didn't spread, huh? That would have been so bad!"  
  
"Yeah. Bad. So, you are on your way home?"  
  
Why do I keep calling it 'home'? I never said he could live here. Except he does, and he has, for the past two years. Do I see this as his home, too? No, I don't. If I start referring to it like that, he might get the idea that I want him to stay with me. And, although I do want him to stay, I -shouldn't- want him to stay. If I have even a gram of compassion or rational sense left anywhere in my body, I shouldn't want Shuichi to be anywhere near me.  
  
"Yeah. I'm coming home. Um. Okay, I have to go now. Sakano needs me to sign some papers so...okay bye!"  
  
"Shu..."  
  
"I'll be home soon!"  
  
The line goes dead, and I am torn between three different realizations.  
  
First, the assassin in me realizes that Shuichi just lied to me.  
  
Second, some small voice in the back of my head remembers that Shuichi still hasn't told me that he loves me today.  
  
Third, the romance novelist in me declares that 'Tangerine' is a ridiculous name for a character. Maybe I should trash this whole concept and start again.  
  
----------------------------  
  
I'm sitting on the couch, drinking my third beer by the time I hear Shuichi outside. I know, as usual, he's fumbling around in his backpack for his keys. He's chronically unorganized.   
  
I cleaned out his backpack once while he was sleeping. Alright, it wasn't so much cleaning as...perhaps you could call it 'spying'. Not really spying, either. I thought... Well, I was -concerned- (not worried) at the time because Shuichi had been acting strange. I thought maybe one of those other stupid musicians might have, somehow, gotten Shuichi interested in drugs. I mean, he's such an idiot, he'd probably do it, too. Shuichi trusts -everyone-, even people who want to hurt him.  
  
Yeah, he had been acting strange. This was, what, about three months ago? He just sorta slunk around my apartment, this blank look on his face, acting like he just heard the news that he had brain cancer or something. I asked him, once and only once, what the hell his problem was, but he just shrugged and said, "Nothing". Nothing, my ass. Still, what am I supposed to do, pick him up by the hair and shake him until he tells me?   
  
At any rate, he seemed to shake himself out of his funk after a week or so. I still don't know what the hell that was all about.   
  
But, yes, I looked through his backpack because I was -concerned- about drugs. I mean, having an idiot living in my house is one thing, but having some drug-addled thieving junkie living in my house is completely another. Really, I don't care at all if Shuichi wants to ruin himself by destroying his brain more than it already is. But, since I -am- sleeping with him, isn't it my right to know if he has any bad habits would could possibly end up getting the both of us sick?  
  
But, there weren't any drugs in his backpack. Just CDs, plastic bracelets, candy, some ragged old notebooks scribbled with the most vapidly insipid lyrics ever concocted, his phone, and a packaged condom which looked to be a half-decade old.  
  
I threw it out.  
  
He never noticed. Or, at least, he didn't say anything if he did.  
  
I hear Shuichi slide into the foyer, calling a perky "Tadaima" as he slips off his shoes. He appears in the living room moments later, bouncing towards me like the world's largest rubber band ball. He pounces onto the couch next to me, throwing his arms around my midsection, barreling into me with such magnificent aplomb that I imagine I might have bruises tomorrow.  
  
He's so...close...and...  
  
I feel so far away.  
  
Why did you lie to me today, Shuichi? I thought you would never lie to me. I don't understand what is going on with...me. Why is it that your touch makes me so scared? Why is it that the tighter you cling to me, the further away I feel? Like I can't feel you at all...I can't hear you...or see you anymore.  
  
No. I don't care. You lied to me. You weren't supposed to lie.   
  
This world, where I am a romance novelist living with a rock star, is already a lie. Shuichi, if you lie, too, then...  
  
It cancels out the fantasy.   
  
"Give me some of your beer! I'm thirsty," he says, finally extricating himself from my torso. Those beautiful eyes sparkle at me, so devoid of pretense, so...sincere. How does he manage to look so innocent?  
  
Is this...maybe, not the first time he's lied to me?  
  
Is Shuichi just...playing me...somehow? All along, has he been -toying- with me?  
  
But, I thought that... I thought that he really was in -love- with me.  
  
He said it so often. And, it was written, in his notebooks in his backpack. Over and over and over. "I love you, Yuki Eiri. I love you. I love you."  
  
"Take the whole goddamn beer." I shove the can in his hands and stand up. I don't care what he's saying now. I have to get away from him. I have to figure this all out. I have to...  
  
I slam the door to my office and lock it. I'm sitting in my chair before I know it.  
  
Am I sweating? Is it hot in here? Why are my hands shaking? I'm in control of this situation. I know what is a lie, and I know what is real.  
  
It was real, wasn't it?  
  
But, I...  
  
I thought you really liked me, sensei. I thought you did. I never imagined you would lie to me.   
  
I never imagined...  
  
"Eiri..." Shuichi's voice floats into the room, sugar and cinnamon and sweetness. If I cover my ears, I won't be able to hear him lying to me. I can keep this fantasy going. I can. "What's wrong? Let me in, please?" He pounds on the door, softly at first, and then with all of his might. "Let me IN!"  
  
No.   
  
I don't let anyone in.  
  
I should have never...  
  
It was real, wasn't it?  
  
I fumble with the bottom drawer of my desk. There, underneath piles of dictionaries and reference manuals, I find an old worn copy of Edith Hamilton's 'Mythology'. I run my fingers down the spine, lightly, hoping...hoping...  
  
Flip. Flip. Flip.  
  
I put it in here. I know I did...right? It was real. It was real.  
  
And there, tucked into the pages of the story of Endymion, I find a small scrap of paper. Gingerly, I pull it out, and unfold it.  
  
Here it is.  
  
I knew it.  
  
"I love you, Yuki Eiri. I love you. I love you so much."  
  
Those loops of red crayon. Those little pink and blue hearts. He wrote it. He wrote it down, so, it has to be true, right?  
  
It has to be...  
  
Because only a cruel monster would spend his time writing lies.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Yuki follows Shuichi to find out where he's going during the day. And he, most definitely, will not like what he finds. Between the messages from Lucy, being pursued by his psychotic and flamingly gay rival, trying to finish his novel, and trying to figure out what Shuichi is doing, will Yuki Eiri even have enough time to smoke a goddamn cigarette?  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Illuminatus Trilogy - A massive compendium of conspiracy theory written by Robert Shay and Robert Anton Wilson  
  
Bronte novels - See Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and Wuthering Heights. These novels are especially beloved of young, idealistic women, and not typical fare for men.  
  
Edith Hamilton's 'Mythology' - Endymion the shepherd is pursued by Selene, the moon. He falls into a deep sleep by her powers, and is never allowed to partake of her beauty, and remains there forever on the grassy hill, locked in living death by the moon's seduction.  
  
Saint Sebastian - As a youth, Saint Sebastian joined the military under Diocletian, though it was not permissible for Christians to do so. Diocletian later found out about this betrayal and had Sebastian tied to a tree. Diocletian then had his archers shoot Sebastian with arrows, and left him for dead. However, Sebastian yet clung to life.  
  
However, Sebastian was saved by a woman named "Irene". As soon as Sebastian could stand, he went to find Diocletian, not for revenge, but to confront him with the cruel crime he had committed.   
  
When he arrived, Diocletian had Sebastian beaten to death.  
  
Sebastian is the patron saint of, among other things, armorers, the plague, dying people, the enemies of religion...and books.  
  
Wildflower House - This is an actual orphanage in Japan in the district stated.   
  
Kitazawa Shopping District - Is a shopping district of Tokyo. It is featured in the anime "Someday's Dreamers", which is where I got the idea.  
  
Lampyridae - Someone asked about this reference. "Lampyridae" is the Latin family name for the common firefly.  
  
Reviews:  
  
Thank you all for your very kind reviews. I know this is an exceedingly odd story, and maybe a bit hard to follow. But, in reality, this is a story about the relationship between Yuki and Shuichi. All the other stuff is highly incidental, and not particularly important. So, if I wrote those parts confusingly, it hopefully won't matter quite as much.  
  
So, beer and cigarettes and Tangerine Dreams to all the reviewers. Thanks so much to:   
  
monoco, bakayarouonna, bisexual butterfly, Veleda (Drag? Don't give me ideas for yet another Ryu story. And, damn. I read that book "Pianissimo Butterfly", too. Akasugi is a flaming nutter.), chibi chidori16, firedraygon97, Yma (I hope Yuki seems less extreme in this chapter.), Shimizu Hitomi (I hope the author notes helped a bit, this time around. Sorry for being obscure.), Burned Vamp, MissyIrene, Daemonchan, mirai aria (It is mildly Weiss-esque in some ways, isn't it?), littlenin (Hope you weren't disappointed by this chapter after how much you liked the last one.), imayb1 (The Cure, hm? I should try that. I'm running out of inspirational music), Kikvws, Ranger, and Flamingolo! 


	3. A Moth to the Flame

**

* * *

**

****

**Chapter 3: A Moth To The Flame**

****

* * *

****

****

There is a moth. There is a moth on the ceiling of my home office. I watch as it expands and contracts its dull grey wings, drops into the air, and then proceeds to make a beeline...no...a mothline...directly for the overhead light.

In the mid-morning quiet of the house, I can hear the insect plink against the glass of the light bulb. Plink. Plink.

Why? Why do they seek to burn themselves? Such a luminous suicide...thwarted. Plink. Against the glass, over and over, drawn to the manufactured flame within the transparent shell. Even though the moth knows that to ever succeed...would mean death, it tries, again and again, to bash its small body through the heated barrier.

Fuck.

Apparently, I fell asleep on the floor. Not even enough goddamn sense to move my body to the divan, which would have been mildly more comfortable.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I sit up suddenly, causing a small scrap of paper to fall off my chest and flutter, cartoon-like, back and forth until it settles against the floor. Shuichi's words, his declaration of love, the one I stole from his notebook months ago, comes to rest on the carpet like a dead moth.

You too, Shuichi, are like a moth to a flame, aren't you? Getting closer and closer to me. Plinking against the glass wall that I've erected. Repeatedly bashing your head into the gates, calling out for me to let you in...to let you come inside. To let you look upon your brilliant doom...just for an instant...before it consumes you.

Shuichi...

Fucking hell. Shuichi...

I scramble to the door, unlock it, and throw it open. He's not here. He's not in the hallway. Whenever we fight like this, he always sleeps right outside my office. Maybe he's in the kitchen...

No. Don't be too hasty. Walk like a normal person, Eiri. Because, if he –is- in the kitchen, you don't want it to look like you were –searching- for him. Keep cool. Goddamnit, when did the kitchen get so far away? This is ridiculous. Why do I have such a giant flat? I don't need this much room.

Fuck. He's not in the kitchen, either.

But, at least, he left a note. Attached to the fridge with a goofy magnet he made out of a picture of us. (A picture which he –must- have photoshopped. I knew I should never have given him that camera phone. If we get through this next week alive, I'm going to have a serious talk with that idiot about taking pictures of me without my permission.)

If we get through this week...

And if I can figure out why Shuichi keeps lying to me.

"Hey! Sorry about last night. Didn't mean to upset you, even though I don't know how I did. I had to go to work, but I will be home after and I'll bring your favorite take-out, too. But, also you should eat breakfast because I really don't think you eat enough. You look tired, Eiri, and I am really worried about you..."

The note goes on and on in this vein, and ends abruptly with:

"See you tonight! --Shu."

Once again, for the second day in a row, he leaves without saying he loves me.

I should be much less affected by this than I am. Is it oversight? Or...is he really...finally...getting tired of me? He –did- lie to me, so...

I can't think about this now. I can't deal with this now. But, I do have to know. I have to look, just to make certain.

I race into my office and bring up my map of Tokyo. There he is. Again. In that same spot across town. Not at NG. I should call Gabriel. I should –demand- answers. Why can't I just call Shuichi and ask him where he is? No. Too many questions. He'd want to know how -I- know he isn't at NG. Fuck. This is driving me...

Grabbing at my hair, I kick my desk chair, sending it rolling across the room. It hits the divan and topples over with a –thwack-. I storm into the bathroom and tear off my clothes. Water from the shower sluices over my body as I try to form a decent plan. I could tell Seguchi about Lucy. No. He'll just try to send me away somewhere, leaving Shuichi vulnerable. Even if I could take Shuichi with me, together...we're so famous that eventually Lucy would track us down. Seguchi's tactic would only be stalling.

I have only one choice. Like a moth to a flame...

I've got to go search the scene of that fire for clues.

Give me a clue, Lucy. Lure me further towards my death. I'll play the moth for you.

I get out of the shower and clothe myself. What do I need? Knives. In the trunk of my car underneath the secret panel. Cellphone. Got it. My cigarettes. Check. And my lighter.

Fuck. Where is my lighter? Why does my lighter keep disappearing? Hn. Shuichi probably keeps stealing them in an attempt to get me to quit smoking. Where is...

Here's an old one, at least. Pink. What the fuck possessed me to buy a pink lighter?

Don't answer that.

Just -don't- answer that.

* * *

When I think back, I can pinpoint the exact day it all went bad. Uriel and I had been on an assignment. Our mission was to find the dirty yakuza slime behind a child pornography ring, and eliminate them. The mere investigation made my guts churn. But, Uriel...I could tell, he was barely holding it together.

We'd been holed up in this repulsive hotel on the bad end of Tokyo for days. The kind of place where you can literally peel the loose wallpaper back and find bloodstains from the last drug deal gone bad. We took turns sleeping in a bed with sheets so filthy it made your flesh itch. I was quickly running low on cigarettes. And Uriel was running low on scotch.

It was a bad situation all around.

I watched from my perch on the bed as Uriel lit matches, one by one, and let them burn down to his fingertips. He'd always been fascinated with fire. I figured it had to do with his past, but I simply didn't ask. In Exile, you don't pry into other people's pasts. And, as long as you don't, no one asks you about yours, either.

But, Uriel took his obsession to an absurd limit. In addition to being a crack shot, he was a demolitions and explosives expert. Several times, I'd had to literally –drag- him away from some house he'd set on fire to cover our activities. Well, we all have our sicknesses. Uriel didn't ask about the wig and contacts I wore when I killed people, and I didn't ask why he couldn't walk away from a fire.

"Anything yet?" I asked, lighting another cigarette with a lighter that I had to keep in my pocket, lest Uriel pick it up and burn all the fluid out.

Uriel shook his head and poked at the dials on the radio. A thin lead ran from the equipment to his ear. We'd bugged the room we knew the yakuza had been using to make some of their smutty videos, but so far, only some under-flunky had been there, eating lots of pizza and watching the most insipid television sitcoms you can imagine.

"You know," Uriel said, hissing and shaking his hand to extinguish a flame he'd let burn a few seconds too long, "If you're bored, you could work on one of your books or something. You know, your –other- job."

Uriel liked to pick on me, well, on all the other agents of Exile for having alternate identities. He had only one job, and that was working for Exile. I guess he didn't have any talents that Seguchi could transform into something else. Or, maybe Seguchi just figured that at least –one- of the top operatives should be out of the public eye. Whatever it was, Uriel liked to bring it up whenever he could. Yeah. He was Seguchi's favorite, and we all knew it.

I'd even suspected that they'd slept together.

But, really, it wasn't something I wanted to think about, especially since Seguchi is married to my sister.

Liquidly, I darted my gaze in Uriel's direction and gave him my best sneer. Uriel snarled back with equal intensity. Then, of course, he broke into a chuckle. "I'm just messing with you, Michael. It's always so strange to think that my partner, the same guy who helps me kill off sick assholes, is also a famous romance novelist."

Uriel shrugged and went back to his match-lighting. I watched him then. He had dark eyes, almost black. Pools of molten tar. Thick with expression. His eyes always betrayed the emotions he tried to hide beneath that oft-immobile sleek face. Wisps of thick black hair escaped the long braid dangling down his back, framing his face in a shadowbox. Uriel was a striking man, not terribly tall, but with a decisive and undeniable –presence-. He had charisma, whereas I remained socially inept. I could fake it, sure, but to Uriel, it came naturally.

In our time together, I'd seen him charm men and women out of just about anything. Information. Money. Sex. He knew how to play people, how to find out what they wanted and insinuate that he could give it to them. In that respect, he was a lot like Seguchi. Except, Seguchi –could- give you the object of your desire, and Uriel...just created the illusion of power. He was a master of seduction.

"Michael..." Uriel finally said, his voice tinged with remorse, "Have you ever thought about leaving Exile?"

"Constantly." I replied, exhaling a hazy cloud of smoke. It was the truth. Every time I saw Seguchi, I told him I wanted to quit. He'd then hand me an envelope, and I'd put off my retirement for another week. Exile wasn't something you could escape. Everyone who was there...remained in its service of their own volition. The work we did...was something we –needed-. I was working to save others from becoming like me. But the others...I am certain...had their own reasons.

"Why don't we?" Uriel slammed his matches down onto the table and turned his torso towards me. "I'm fucking tired of this. Of Seguchi holding us back. Tomorrow, we'll kill some yakuza thug, but what the fuck difference will it make? Someone else will step up and take his place. Unless we find a way to...make them afraid...to fear what they are doing..."

"And what do you plan to do? Write 'You're Next' in blood in the lobby of the yakuza headquarters?"

"Well, yes. I believe that would be a good start."

I sighed and stubbed out my cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray as I stood up. "Get a grip, Uriel. I think those match fumes are going to your head."

"Yeah, I think they are. In a good way." Uriel snorted a chuckle and leaned back in his chair, his long braid dangling behind him like a lazy pendulum slowly coming to a stop. "Think about it, though, Michael. If I do...leave...I want you to come with me. We're the best agents..."

"Shut up. Drink some scotch. Get some rest. You haven't slept in forever."

"Yeah. Sleep." Uriel pulled the earpiece out and handed it to me before heading over to the bed. He plopped down, making the springs creak noisily, and pushed his bangs out of his face before looking up at me. "Wanna fuck, Michael? Forget Exile for a while? Forget everything...just for a while?"

Alright, so, yeah...I'd fucked him a few times. It wasn't like we were –together- or anything. Forgetting. Temporary vacation from reality. That's all it was. We weren't interested in each other...that way.

But, if I recall correctly, he –was- fairly talented in the sack.

I could only roll my eyes as I plugged the lead into my ear. "Eat shit, you crazy pyromaniac."

Uriel laughed so hard he convulsed on the bed. "That's the best insult you can come up with, Mr. Famous Romance Novelist?"

Remaining silent, I lit up my second to last cigarette and stared out the lone and incredibly grimy window at the building across the street. Uriel eventually calmed down and fell asleep while waiting for me to come up with a more biting retort. After a while, I turned back towards the room and watched him doze. Even asleep, there was just something about him which seemed piercingly sinister. Most people look peaceful when they sleep, but Uriel....looked...

Lost. Incredibly lost. And angry about it.

As I gazed at him, his lips moved, and I heard the one word he moaned, a word which told me more about what was going on in Uriel's mind than I would have been able to deduce from a thousand conversations with him. A desperate, keening gasp that filled the room with desire....

"Tohma..."

* * *

The Shimo-Kitazawa shopping district is known throughout Tokyo as for its antique toy shops. It's a favorite among hobbyists and children. But, I usually go there for the bookstores. For signings, never to buy. If I want to buy a book, I'll order it off the internet or have Mizuki find it for me. No need to go out among the repulsive masses and chance a face to face encounter with...anyone.

But, towards the West end, the smell of burnt paper hangs in the air. Here, businesses slowly peter out into abandoned shopfronts and notice boards peppered with a rainbow of ripped sections of playbills, sale announcements, and desperate pleas to help find lost animals. This part of Shimo-Kitazawa has become ghost town of cheap property which has been gobbled up by larger corporations as storage space. There are no brightly colored vendor stands here, just layers upon layers of industrial paint designed to cover up graffiti. I kick a soda can, by accident, and watch it go tumbling up the road with a rattling clinkity-clink that has –surely- alerted anyone nearby to my presence.

The difficulty rating in finding the burnt warehouse is zero. Thin streaks of smoke still rise towards the sky. Lucy probably burnt the place with jet fuel, or something even –more- caustic, just so that his precious fire would last longer. Damnable pyromaniac.

A detail of firemen linger around the building, chatting, eating their box lunches, still waiting for the thing to burn itself out. Everything is destroyed anyway, so why put up the extra effort except to make certain that the fire doesn't spread to nearby warehouses?

I lean against a telephone pole, and try to figure out why I am here. The smoldering warehouse won't be divulging any secrets. I've definitely slipped into insanity if I think the police or the firemen will tell me anything. Well, what did you expect, Eiri, a sign from God?

Or, something from Lucifer himself. A big, fat, bloody message reading, "You're next, Michael."?

I'm just about to turn around to leave when I feel it, that prickle, that shuddering tingle at the back of my neck. When you've been killing people for as long as I have, you develop a preternatural sense to tell you when you're being watched.

I turn. And, right then, as the clouds break overhead to let slivers of sunlight burst downwards onto this wasteland of warehouses, I catch glimpse of those pitch black eyes watching me from a nearby alleyway.

Lucy.

Damnit! I should have known he'd come back here. He never could resist a fire.

I push off the pole and sprint towards the alleyway, hoping desperately that my presence has not yet been noted by the nearby firefighting crew. Lucy withdraws immediately into the shadows. Fuck. I didn't even get a good look at his face, just a glint of sunlight off his eyes. But, I know it is him. It –has- to be him. He darts between shadows as I chase him, keeping himself unseen with professional ease. I can barely even follow him by sight, and have to rely on the sounds of his footfalls to lead me in his direction. Several times, I run almost trip, on litter, potholes, over a long section of pipe.

By the time I get to the end of the alley, he's already jumped a concrete wall. I can hear him on the other side, breathing heavily. At least I winded him.

"You come over this wall, Michael, and I'll shoot you."

There is something about his voice. Something...I don't remember from before, but decidedly familiar. He's probably had his vocal chords tightened or something.

"What do you want from me, Uriel?" I ask, wishing desperately that I'd brought a grenade with me. Not that I generally take grenades –anywhere-. But, I do have some in my hidden vault at home. For emergency purposes. (Like Tatsuha refusing to remove himself from my apartment.)

A faint shuffle of footsteps moves closer to the wall. "There's nothing I want from you, nothing that I don't already have. Except for you to suffer, Michael. For Exile to perish. Their mission is the past. Outdated and useless. Lampyridae is the future. You could have been part of the future, Michael. It was your choice to walk away."

"I'm not..."

"Not what? A murderer? A traitor? You're not like me? Are you trying to tell me you have morals, Michael? Don't make me laugh."

I lean my forehead against the concrete. There's nothing I can say to refute the truth in his words. I am an executioner...but I've never been good at being the judge. I leave that task to Seguchi. "Just...leave Shuichi out of this, Uriel. What is between us...should stay between us. He's an innocent."

An innocent. But, nowadays, Lucy doesn't care if innocent people get hurt in his quest to rid the world of what he sees as evil. It's futile to argue with him...so why do I try?

"Shuichi?" Is he humming? I know that tune. It's one of those ridiculous songs from Shuichi's band's first album. "By the way, Michael...I found –this-."

A small object hardly larger than one of my fingers comes arcing over the wall. It falls onto the pavement and skitters away from me a bit, making a slurred plastic chitter against the road. Wearily, I bend to pick it up, keeping my gaze focused on the top of the concrete barrier in case this is a trick by Lucy to distract me.

My fingers close around...a lighter. What is this supposed to....?

No. It can't be.

Gingerly, as if holding a small dying animal, I cradle the plastic lighter in my palm. This is... This is –mine-. No. This is –ours-.

It is the lighter to which Shuichi affixed a small sticker... A picture of us from that arcade photo booth...

"How did you get this?" I ask, standing up so quickly that I feel lightheaded. I have to lean one shoulder against the wall to keep from passing out. "Where did this come from, Uriel? Tell me!"

"He's a precious boy, ne, Michael? I didn't peg him as your type, but... So pretty with his mouth hanging agape and his head...tilted back. Ecstatic. Burning with passion. More fascinating than fire itself. Don't worry, Michael, I will take –good- care of your Shuichi when he is finally mine."

"Don't you dare..." How is it that I have suddenly become irrational? I stuff the lighter in my pocket and reach up to find a hold on the top of the wall. I'm going to get myself shot, I just know it.

Hn. That'll make Gabriel's preposterous ninja happy beyond belief.

But, by the time I make it to where I can see the alley on the other side...

Lucy is gone.

* * *

Three weeks after he and I killed the leader of that yakuza's child pornography ring, Uriel disappeared. Seguchi was furious. And why not? Uriel was Exile's top operative.

We both hoped Uriel had merely gone underground. Outwardly, we hoped this. But, Seguchi and I both knew... Uriel wasn't running –away- from Exile. He was running –towards- his new group. A group that killed indiscriminately. An organization that would amputate the entire arm to cure a hangnail.

When he finally contacted me, I kept his message secret for five days. I considered it seriously. Exile did have many failings. Progress was slow. And all decisions depended upon Seguchi. But, in the end, I could not join Uriel's new group. The choice I made had little to do with loyalty...

I just didn't want to make the decisions. I am a monster beneath this façade. I am...not the sort of man who should choose who will live and who will die. Because, if I did...

No one would be left standing.

I just hate the teeming masses of humanity –that- much.

In the end, I brought the message to Seguchi. And he decided I would go undercover. Uriel had to be eliminated. I would pretend to join his new group, and when I had his trust, I would destroy what he had been building.

And I would kill Uriel.

This is how, temporarily, I became a member of Lampyridae.

Uriel communicated with me through a messenger. And, of course, his first dictum required me to eliminate agents of Exile to prove my loyalty.

Raphael and Gabriel –had- to go. Uriel didn't want to have them following us across the globe. Besides, with the other two head agents gone, Exile was sure to be set back for a very long time...if it didn't collapse altogether.

So, I called Raphael and Gabriel to a warehouse, on the pretense of handing over information I had collected about Lampyridae.

I remember clearly. Gabriel entered first, his confident stride showing no sense of distrust, beige duster flapping around him as he walked up to the table in the middle of the box-laden room. Raphael appeared behind him, as if from nowhere, dressed in his full black ninja regalia.

Mr. K. and Sakuma Ryuichi. The number two team of Exile operatives.

"Tell me you have good news on bringing down Uriel," Mr. K said, taking off his shades. He let them hang loosely from his fingers, twirling them in an oblong circle as he came to a stop a few feet from me. "Vigilante justice for the innocents is one thing. Psychotic, uncontrolled, vigilante activity is completely another."

As usual, Sakuma didn't seem to be paying much attention. He'd produced a lollipop from thin air and took to examining the ceiling while humming. I knew this was just an act, however. There is little which escapes Sakuma's attention.

I found myself hesitant. But, I needed to be able to get close to Uriel...to know his plans, and more importantly, his location. And unless I proved my loyalty, I would never be able to accomplish my objective.

Rule Number Four for Writers and Assassins: When you're going to kill someone off, never do it in a warehouse. That's just –way- too cliché. Plus, there's a pretty good chance that the sound of a gun cocking will echo, which defeats the element of surprise.

By the time I had my gun out, and leveled at Sakuma's shoulder, Mr. K had sprung into action. He spun to the left, shielding the ninja from the blow with his –much- larger body. I remember his sunglasses going flying into the air, but the sound of them hitting the concrete floor never registered. It was drowned out by the gunshot.

I'd only meant to hit Sakuma in the shoulder. But, my hesitation gave Mr. K just enough time to swing in front of him.

I shot Gabriel in the back.

And for that, Raphael has never forgiven me.

The fact that I almost killed his partner...that his partner almost died protecting him...has created an unending grudge which occasionally culminates in a desire for revenge. Damn...stubborn...ninja.

I am certain that the effusive Mr. K did not hold me in the highest regard for quite a long time after that. But, somehow, after he healed up, Seguchi explained the situation in a way that made sense, and K's grudge against me became fairly minimal compared to Sakuma's. He's not particularly rational, that shinobi, which was why I was trying to shoot –him- instead of his partner. Raphael couldn't survive without Gabriel's help.

(Seguchi eventually re-assigned Gabriel and Raphael to the states to protect me from Raphael's ire. I don't think he'd really ever kill me. Well, I don't think Gabriel would –let- him kill me. Yes. I'm about 70 certain of that.)

In the end, however, it was all for naught. Uriel didn't believe the lie, since neither Raphael nor Gabriel died. I guess Uriel just knows me too well. Knows my abilities with a –gun- too well. Lampyridae became a ghost that Exile tracked all over the globe.

I was never able to get close to Uriel again.

* * *

Tungesh tries to wave me down with a book as I drive past his stand. I don't care what it is. No. I know what it is. That damn Akasugi's new book came out today, didn't it? Yeah. I've heard all the pre-reviews for 'Black Licorice'. They all translate to 'Stunningly gay with a topping of whipped homoeroticism.' Maybe I should start writing shoujo-ai. Tangerine could be secretly be a lipstick lesbian. Would that even sell?

Well, Tatsuha would buy a copy, at least.

I can't believe I'm thinking about my novel at a time like this. Ignoring Tungesh, I push the pedal to the floor and race the few blocks home at an absolutely illegal speed. Somehow, I avoid a collision with the neighbor's parked car by a narrow margin of about two inches. My own BMW ends up with the front driver-side tire on the curb.

I do –not- have time to re-park.

Shuichi. He even stood by me when I was poisoned by a particularly clever female shinobi, and ended up at the hospital. Seguchi told everyone it was stress, but considering that every day of my life contains enough stress to turn a non-violent flower-waving hippie into a gun-toting maniac, only those people who weren't associated with Exile believed him.

Shuichi was there. And the little idiot was worried for me. Worried for himself. He's so...incredibly selfish. He didn't ask a single question about why I was sick. Just rambled on and on about how he couldn't...he wouldn't...live without me. So...selfish... And I...just ate it up. The immense guilt over how I had...have...been deceiving him was enough to break me. I...almost got myself killed. And where would that leave Shuichi?

In an empty house...with a few memories...and a fridge full of beer.

But, what destroyed me more than the thought of Shuichi trying to get along after I died...was the terrible 'what if' that I just couldn't shake...

What if...Shuichi died?

How would...I feel?

I decided not to think about it. Because, of course, it was unthinkable. Shuichi wouldn't die. Shuichi could get hit by an 18-wheeler, and be back up on stage singing by the next week. He's the incredible rubber boy. He bounces back from everything.

I was...I –am-...a professional. As long as Shuichi and I didn't get –too- close... As long as I never truly committed to him... I could always wait until –later-. Later. He'd find out about my life...later. And if he were ever truly...truly in danger...I could always leave him...

Later.

If Shuichi died...because of me...

It was unthinkable. So I decided that I would think about it...later.

But, as I race up the stairs, foregoing the elevator to my flat, Shuichi –actually- getting hurt is the only possibility on my mind. It blurs the edges of my vision, leaving nothing on the landing except me, my heavy footsteps as I run, and the door...

It takes forever to find the right key for the lock.

I don't know how Lucy got ahold of Shuichi's lighter. Maybe he's been following Shuichi for a while. Maybe he's even befriended Shuichi. Talked to him. Touched him.

Touched him.

It doesn't matter. I know now exactly what I must do. After I find out Shuichi's coordinates, I'll call Seguchi and tell him what is going on. Seguchi will send in a Seraphim extraction team to get Shuichi. We'll send him far away. Invercargill. Idaho. Interlaken. Iceland. Ipanema. Seguchi has contacts that can hide Shuichi for a while. Sure, his music career will suffer but...it has to be done.

Even if I never see him again, it has to be done.

I never should have gotten this close.

But the fantasy...of my novels...of a normal life...

The fantasy of Shuichi's love...

I couldn't help but cling to them. A lifeline. A secret telegraph wire over the thick walls I have built to keep a firm barrier between myself and the world. Why did it have to be Shuichi? It seems unfair that of all the people I've met in my life, he has to be the only one who knows Morse Code. The only one patient enough to sit there and type out the dots and dashes over and over and over...

'I love you, Yuki Eiri. I love you. I love you. I love you.'

Tapping the words repeatedly...until I forget...which part of my life is a fanstasy...and which is real.

As I race down the hall, I suddenly remember that he hasn't told me that he loves me in two days. Maybe it's a sign. An omen. Maybe he's tired of sending Morse Code messages into the impenetrable castle, and never getting a response.

It doesn't matter. That...doesn't change my plans at all.

The door to my office flies open under an open-handed shove. I walk over to my desk and grab the back of my chair, intent on sitting down and pulling up my map of Tokyo.

Except...

My chair...

Shouldn't be...here...

I kicked it across my office before I left. It crashed into the divan and toppled over.

As I spin around, my hand goes to my hip. But, there is no gun there. I always remove my weapons long before I get home, since I never know when that brat will try to molest me. No gun... Maybe it's just...

"Brat?"

A fluttery sighing sound comes from the hallway one second before the intruder steps into view.

Slowly, an exquisitely manicured hand slides up the doorpost, drags crimson fingernails along the beige paint, and produces the slurring scrape of keratin on wood. The back of the hand, dusted in stark white powder, contains the sharp relief of several veins, unable to be hidden by the makeup. Long fingers flex for a moment before the rest of the arm slinks into view, covered in a thick brocade of black silk. Then a shoulder which has the expensive kimono pulled down to an extreme angle, appears. His neck and collarbone, too, have been slathered in white makeup.

And his face...

Even underneath that mask of makeup he's wearing, it's not hard to discern the features of Akasugi Naoko.

I'm just –not- going to –ask- why he's dressed up as a geisha. He even has his long black hair pulled up in the bouffant style made famous by the women of the pleasure quarters, replete with gold hairpins and sprigs of white flowers.

With a mock pout, he throws his spine against the doorframe and coos, "Brat? Is that any way to address an adoring fan?"

As if it were actually a –funny- joke, Akasugi produces a fan from his obi and snaps it open. He flips it laconically back and forth in front of his face as he eyes me, hiding what I know must be a smirk.

"Get out of my house. How did you get in here, anyway? The door was locked."

"Which do you want, Yuki Eiri? Do you want me to answer your question? Or do you want me to get out of your house?"

I don't have –time- for this. I have to find out where Shuichi is and... AND HOW DO CRAZY PEOPLE KEEP GETTING INTO MY FLAT?

"Let me answer that for you," Akasugi purrs as he floats across the room, his black kimono rustling softly with each tiny step, his frail body structure accentuated by his red and gold obi. Has he actually been –practicing- this? "The door wasn't locked. And do you know why?" The Annoying Emperor of Yaoi stops about six inches from me. His fan snaps closed far too near to my face, causing me to flinch slightly from the sound. "You read my latest novel, Yuki Eiri. And it moved you. You were hoping, fervently, that Naoko-chan would come..."

The fan gets pressed against my lips, which startles me just long enough for Akasugi to finish his statement, "...and rescue you from your unceasing desperation and eternal torment."

Maybe I shouldn't, but at the moment, it seems like the best thing to do. I shove Akasugi backwards. No one touches me without my permission. Not since...

Not since Sensei.

He ends up falling onto his palms. Good. I hope he gets rug burns. Bad ones. It'll make typing painful.

"You picked a very unfortunate day to mess with me, Akasugi..."

Rule Number Five for Writers and Assassins: Rivals always have something up their sleeve. Be wary of anything they say or do.

"I don't know or care what you want, but right now, you need to leave."

Akasugi lifts one dainty hand and pats at his upswept hair, as if to make certain it is still attached to his head. "There's really no need to be coy, Yuki Eiri." He shifts his knee to the side, allowing the kimono to fall open, exposing the back of his leg almost to the thigh.

He really –does- have nice legs. Pity he covers them with skirts.

WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?

He's completely obnoxious.

I lunge forward and grab Akasugi's wrist. Without waiting for him to stand up, I proceed to drag him behind me towards the door. "You're leaving."

"So very violent, Yuki Eiri. Forceful. That's it. Get mad."

"Would you SHUT UP?"

There's a brief moment when Akasugi –does- shut up. And, I'm about ready to believe that he's finally given up on –whatever- it is he came here to do. Then I realize that he's not only quiet, he's also not struggling very hard to pry his wrist away from my hand.

And for some reason, this causes my senses to go on immediate alert.

When I turn to look behind me, in an attempt to find out what the hell is going on...

I see three things.

Akasugi's grin....

His hair cascading down around his shoulders...

And the hairpin that plunges into the back of my arm.

I was wrong about Rule Number Five. Akasugi didn't have something up his sleeve. He had it...in his –hair-.

My heart is already racing so fast that I only get four more labored steps before the toxin coating the hairpin forces me to drop to my knees in the middle of the hallway. Around me, the world blurs and contracts as Akasugi flips me onto my back, waves of black hair framing the victorious grin on his face.

I try to lift my arm to push him off as he climbs on top of me, but it barely rises from the floor. "The more you struggle, my love, the faster it will take effect. You see..." Akasugi takes a deep breath and presses his garishly painted lips to the underside of my jaw, "I adore you. And I hate you. It's a problem for me. I must have you...but, I can't have you writing anymore. Your books...they tear me up inside. Let me be...your tragic heroine. Let me...make a story for you."

"Get...off... Get...fucked..."

"Yes, that's in the plan, Yuki Eiri." I can feel him, dipping his fingers between the buttons of my shirt, scratching his fingernails against rapidly-numbing flesh. I can barely see...anything. A buzzing noise rings dim and distant in my ears. "And after our passionate coupling, I will kill you. Don't worry. You'll be immortalized in my next novel. You'll live forever in the bestselling shonen-ai masterpiece...'Brilliant Eidolon'."

Before I pass out...

Before everything goes dark...

I see a shadow appear behind Akasugi Naoko. Within an instant, a foot connects with the side of Akasugi's head, and his painted face...is no longer hovering over my own.

And then...the figure steps into the light. Pink-haired, smiling, and holding a gleaming silver gun. A gun which is aimed...right at my head.

"Shuichi?" I try to call to him, but nothing comes out.

And an echo of an echo of a voice I know declares...

"Brilliant Eidolon? That's a stupid name for a book. And, if anyone is going to kill him....

....It's going to be me."

* * *

In Our Next Chapter: In Brilliant Eidolon, nothing is ever as it seems. More clues are left as to Shuichi's recent strange behaviors. A shinobi plot is unveiled. The pyromaniac strikes again, though Exile ramps up its search for Lucy. And Akasugi...makes a –new- friend.

Thanks for waiting for this long overdue chapter, and for –reading- Brilliant Eidolon. I expect the story to run about 3 more chapters, so hopefully, we are halfway done.

And a special thanks to all of those who have reviewed both on gurabite and Whenever I get lost, and need inspiration, I head back to the reviews to give me that little extra push. I thank you, deeply, and hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.


	4. The Flames of Absolution

DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains imagery which may be disturbing to the deeply religious. I do not mean to offend. I respect all religions.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Four: The Flames of Absolution

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Let's kill him."

Through a blur of semi-consciousness, this line echoes in my mind. This line, that voice, and through a haze of the millimeter I can open my eyes, a pink blob of hair.

Too pink. What's wrong with Shuichi's hair?

"We can't kill him. And put down my gun."

"How about the crazy unconscious man-geisha? Can I kill -him-?"

I try to move my hands. Maybe I can gather enough energy for just one punch. Enough to knock Shuichi back into his senses. What's going on? And why is the room fuzzy? I strain diligently to get my eyes open. I need to see my opponents.

Light flickers into my mind one blink at a time, a black-and-white-and-pink reel-to-reel movie on a very slow speed. Shuichi is sitting in a chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, a very impressive gun hanging off one of his fingers, and a...

Pink bunny on his head.

Goddamnit! Why is this fucking ninja always in my goddamn house!

"Sa...ku...ma." I lunge for him, but end up tumbling off the side of my bed. For some reason, none of my limbs are working properly.

Next thing I know, Gabriel's face hovers over mine, his lips drawn into a confident smile. "Please don't attempt to kill my partner, Michael. We already went through that. And, Ryuichi, hand over the gun."

Gabriel sticks out his hand in anticipation of the object. The insidious shinobi of idiocy shakes his head in defiance.

"Kumagoro wants a gun, too!"

"You're deadly enough without firearms, Ryuichi."

"But..."

"How many times do we have to have this conversation?"

"Seventy hundred and sixty-six."

K, bolder than I might -ever- be around that madman, reaches over and -pries- the gun out of Sakuma's hand. He then returns it to a holster somewhere underneath his trenchcoat. In retaliation, a shuriken whizzes through the air and clips several strands of K's hair before becoming lodged in my bedroom wall.

So fast. I didn't even see him throw it.

K., Gabriel, the American With The Guns, whatever you want to call him, doesn't even flinch. He's used to this sort of treatment, these nigh-murderous temper tantrums. He knows Sakuma's aim is perfect. Still, he also has to know that one of these days, that stupid shinobi is going to take his goddamn ear off. 

I wonder if they are fucking.

I wonder if I can make myself care about whether or not they are fucking.

"Get me off the goddamn ground, before I..."

"Before you...what...exactly?" Sakuma hops off the chair and puts his face -way- too close to mine. His breath smells of the fruit punch bubblegum he is chewing. He cracks it between his teeth, popping unseen blisters of air noisily, just to get on my nerves. An almost infinitesimal dot of spittle leaps out of his mouth and lands on my bottom lip. 

I want nothing more than to wipe it off, and shove him away, but my arms aren't exactly functional. 

He grins. "Before you...decompose, na no da?" 

It's pointless to talk to him.

Gabriel, thankfully, tugs Ryuichi off of me by the back of his collar. The shinobi's bones must be made of lightweight plastic, because Gabriel picks him up as if it were nothing. Or, perhaps, as if he did it on a daily basis. Ryuichi is deposited on the other side of the bed.

"It's some sort of nerve poison," Gabriel says as he hoists me up and arranges me into a sensible position on the mattress. "It should wear off in a while. Ryuichi already gave you the antidote." K. twists his head around suddenly. "You -did- give him the -antidote-, right?"

"Antidote. Yes. Kumagoro gave him the -antidote-, na no da. Because some of us DON'T TRY TO KILL OUR CO-WORKERS."

"Christ, shut up about it, already," I grumble. Pointless. Absolutely pointless to even -try- when it comes to Raphael. Why do I bother? I turn my attention to the much more important task of trying to figure out what in the hell is going on, and why this pair is in my house. It would be helpful if I could stand up, but since I can't, I just glare at Gabriel, and attempt to psychically impart to him that I'm going to strangle him as soon as I can move if he doesn't offer an explanation.

"We were trying to lure out Lucy." I guess he got the mental message. Gabriel leans back on one arm, and his trenchcoat falls open at the hip. Does any man really need that many guns? Even an assassin? "Ryuichi was going to dress up at Shuichi, impersonate him, and see if we couldn't attract attention from Lampyridae. We came over to see if you'd learned anything useful, anything that might give us a good place to start. We picked your lock, and Ryuichi was going through your kitchen cabinets, looking for cookies, when we heard someone open the door. Since we'd never seen the freak before, we decided to hang around and find out what he...she...it...was doing here."

For the first time in days, something makes a modicum of sense. I should thank them, I suppose. But, they -did- break into my house, so I will just consider it even.

"Ryuichi," Gabriel says suddenly, bending over the unseen side of the bed to do something which causes the mattress to jerk and shift. "That man in the dress is not a trampoline."

"Can I keep him, K? You know, as like a pet for Kumagoro?"

"Let him," I mutter, "They deserve each other."

"Who is this guy, Michael?" K asks. I hear a gun cock, and Sakuma reappears, jumping up to sit on the bed, much to his keeper's apparent approval. "Lampyridae agent?"

"Worse," I try to move my fingers. I get my thumb to twitch a bit. "He's a mentally unstable gay author."

"So, just like you, then?" Ryuichi slithers back off the bed and onto Akasugi.

"Your life is fucked -up-," K adds.

"You understand that I'm going to kill you both as soon as I can move, right?"

"You missed your chance on that one, Michael." Ryuichi's face reappears sporting a massive grin. "You will not believe what this man is wearing under his kimono, na no da."

K dives towards his partner. "Ryuichi! Get your hand out of there! You don't know where that fag has been."

I groan inwardly as the pair starts quarreling again. It's unfortunate, but true, that they are skilled operatives. I don't know why K does this job. The gunplay, maybe? I'd like to believe that Ryuichi works for Exile because he's just a sadist. But, I know that he, somewhere in that remarkably puny brain of his, actually thinks he's doing some sort of good for the world.

Nonetheless, I am not interested in watching them squabble.

Rule Number Six for Writers and Assassins: Get to the root of the matter as quickly and succinctly as possible. Use small words, if necessary.

I finally manage to tilt my head up a bit. At this point, K has produced a voluminous roll of duct tape and has begun to wrap it around and around and around Ryuichi's arms. His critical mistake is that he's didn't pull Ryuichi's arms behind his back before doing this.

And here's where I employ rule number six: "Where's Shuichi?"

Both of them look at me and answer at the same time, "What? Isn't he with you?"

Ryuichi tacks on, "Jinx!" And then he thrashes to the side a bit as K rips the end of the duct tape. K has looped the tape all the way from his wrists to several inches past his elbows. Looks painful. I'm pleased.

"No, he isn't with me." I roll my eyes. Where do they think I am keeping the brat? In my pocket? In my cigarette pack? Why do people insist on asking such stupid goddamn questions all the time? "Does it look like he is with me? Do you think I would be asking if I knew where he was?"

Except, I do know where he is located. I know his coordinates. I just don't know what he's doing across town.

"Well, I don't know where he is. And I'm not exactly sure Ryuichi knows where -Ryuichi- is half the time, so it is pointless to ask him."

I look over at the shinobi who has proceeded the produce a stickpin from God-knows-where, and is now holding it between his lips and trying to use it to free himself. Needle versus duct tape. Right. That'll take a while. 

"You're supposed to be his manager."

K glares at me. "You're supposed to be his boyfriend."

"Obud eye oh er oo-an ith," Ryuichi says, still holding the stickpin between his lips. "Buh mmnogun telloo neelay, nuh no wa."

"Shut up. No one here speaks idiot-ese," I say.

"Athssstole."

How can K not know where Shuichi is? This is a gross oversight. Maybe I should talk to Seguchi about getting a new manager for Shuichi's band.  
You know, someone who isn't otherwise preoccupied with his duties as an assassin?

"He said he was staying home today," K says, the gravity of the situation apparently only now dawning on him. "I figured you two lovebirds went out and had a BIG DATE or something."

Maybe things are easier when you're dead. If only I could move, I would seriously consider beating my head against the wall until I passed out.

"Look. I want the two of you to get rid of Akasugi."

"You mean..." K takes out one of his guns and cocks it. "Get -rid- of him?"

Don't I fucking wish? "No, just... Remove him from my house. And, try not to blow your cover in the process."

Why do I suddenly sound like Seguchi?

"Alright." I hear a tearing noise, and look over to find Ryuichi attacking his duct taped arms with his teeth. "But, what are -you- going to do, Michael?"

Goddamnit.

Stop with the stupid questions already.

Christ, I need a cigarette.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Tangerine drives a Jeep of some kind, I think. Some massive beast of a vehicle. Maybe she doesn't even have her driver's license. I imagine she parks badly. Maybe double-parks just to piss other people off. Tangerine is a real, unrepentant bitch. Imagine Bruce Willis from Die Hard packed into a bra and heels. On second thought, don't imagine that. The results aren't pretty.

Tangerine drives a Jeep, but I drive a nice, sensible BMW at a nice, sensible 80mph. I never double-park because that gives idiots the idea that they want to key your car. I'm an asshole only up to the point where it encourages others to vandalize my property. I'm still refining this theory, however, since it doesn't seem to keep my goddamn brother from occasionally coming over and tearing up my apartment. 

I don't know what is wrong with that kid. How he can be so utterly devoted to the most psychotic person on the planet is beyond me. Of course, Tatsuha only knows Ryuichi as some pop idol. Heh. If only he knew the truth...

Actually, Tatsuha would probably idolize the idiot even more. 

I can't win.

At least he hasn't called me lately and asked me to get him booze, porn, or strands of Sakuma Ryuichi's hair.

I love my brother...from afar. Very far. If I could figure out a way to transport Dad, the temple, and Tatsuha to London, I would gladly spend my entire fortune in doing so.

These are the thoughts which occupy my mind as I race down the highway. And, frankly, I am glad these thoughts are consuming me, because the alternative isn't pretty. The alternative is wondering where the fuck I am going and what exactly I am going to find when I get there. 

It took a full half hour for me to regain movement in all of my limbs. K suggested waiting another two hours, but I don't have time for that. They left with K carrying Akasugi over one shoulder. I swear, I'm going to take out a restraining order on Akasugi when I get a chance. Or get a better home security system. Maybe with a guard dog. No. That's probably a bad idea. Shuichi would turn the thing into a drooling, pampered mutt within weeks. And, like I really need the hassle of a dog on top of the other pet I've apparently adopted against my will.

Goddamnit. Can't stop thinking about Shuichi.

I reach for the radio, but stop before I turn it on. That would be an even worse decision, considering how often they play 'Bad Luck' songs. 

The only choice is to have another cigarette. I rummage around in the glove compartment for my spare pack while attempting to keep my eyes on the road. Alright. Found the pack but...

No fucking lighter. I thought I kept a lighter in here.

Maybe in my pocket? Aha. Here's the one Lucy threw at me. The one with the little picture of... 

Shuichi. ARGH.

It never ends.

My speed increases to 85mph.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I feel like I've driven halfway to Yokohama by the time I get to the middle-class suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of the metropolis. I didn't even realize anyone in this city lived in such a place. It reminds me more of the neighborhoods of upstate New York than it does of Tokyo. There are tree-lined groves and picket fences (thankfully not white). The cars here are small and inexpensive, but not overly worn. A cadre of kindergarteners are playing in a lawn sprinkler. 

In a place like this, I really could get in deep trouble for speeding, so I slow down.

Is this sort of place considered 'nice'? Desirable? Is this where people go to stop being single and become families? There's a woman with a stroller sitting at a bus stop -not- marked up by graffiti, and an older gentleman walking a shaggy dog. So, I guess so. 

Of course, I could never live in a place like this. I bet they don't even carry my brand of cigarettes at the corner market. And how would Shuichi get to NG every morning? Idiot would have to take a bus into the city, and that's just asking for disaster, since he is becoming more famous every day. Besides, who would mow the lawn? Not me, that's for sure.

I don't even like places like this, with their fake-chipper Tupperware parties and neighbors bringing in your mail for you when you're away, probably snooping at your correspondence. Hmph. I bet they even have noisy neighborhood barbeques, where all the men get together and watch sports. Right. Shuichi watching sports. You know, I don't mind watching American Auto Racing, though. Only for the inevitable car crashes. Shuichi would probably look pretty cute in a little apron, I have to admit. Flipping burgers. I could teach him how to make a good hamburger, juicy and rare. Little moron would probably burn his arm on the grill and cry about it until I got a cold beer out of the fridge to press on the wound. Then, as per usual, I'd have to kick him out of the way and finish making the burgers myself, because God knows he can't cook.

Why am I smirking? This is dumb. 

Rule Number Seven for Writers and Assassins: Pay fucking attention to what the hell you're doing. Long digressions just always bite you in the ass.

I find the street in question, and drive down it once, just to scope it out. The house where Shuichi is supposed to be looks no different from any of the neighboring ones. Well, except for some ostentatious tile-work on the path leading through the yard, but somehow the yellows and reds play off of the nearby garden's aesthetic fairly well. Other than that, it appears to be a normal split-level with a privacy fence and a well-kept yard. I squint at the mailbox to see if it has a name printed on it. Of course, it doesn't.

Damn.

I loop back around and park the car at the end of the street. Plan. Now I need a good plan. Alright. If I wanted to kill the person in this house, I'd hop the fence and then go in through the back. A window on the second floor would be the best bet for entry. Those are less likely to be locked tightly or have infuriating security systems. 

But, I'm not here to assassinate someone. So, what is the solution? I can't exactly walk up to the door and knock. First of all, how do I explain to Shuichi the fact that I know where he is? And second, how do I explain to Shuichi...why I am looking for him?

No. That's too complicated. What we need here is a surveillance operation. 

I pop the trunk and spend a few seconds digging out my binoculars. Seguchi's idea, actually. Just in case. In case of what, I have no idea. In case I need to identify a sparrow working for the yakuza? Give me a break.

The fact that the sun is quickly getting lower and lower in the sky will help quite a bit. I approach the house from the side with the most trees. Well, fuck. Now I have to climb a goddamn tree. Shuichi better be...

Alright?

Worth this trouble?

Thankful that I give a damn whether he is alive or dead?

Climbing the tree ends up being nowhere near as difficult as I had thought. Unfortunately, doing this with a pair of binoculars in hand makes me feel like my slimy sex-obsessed brother. Right, right, I'm sure Tatsuha isn't a Peeping Tom, but this is probably only because he doesn't know where Sakuma lives. 

I balance my torso against a sturdy branch and bring the binoculars up to get a closer look. Not that I really need them. The backyard is fairly normal. And there -is- a barbeque grill. I -knew- it.

What is this place? Who the hell does Shuichi know in this part of the city? I try to rack my brains, but I come up with nothing. A relative, maybe? But, his mother and sister live miles from here, and I can't remember him mentioning any other family. Alright, so maybe I wasn't really listening when he babbled about his family most of the time. Can you blame me? I can't listen to him all the time. I'd go fucking insane.

I see there are a couple of lights on... Maybe that's a kitchen, there. The one with the lacy green curtains. And the larger window should be...a living room or den, I think. The last window has to be a bedroom, and the lights are off on that one.

After several minutes, a shadow moves past one of the windows. Damn. Too quick to make out.

So, what are you doing here, Shuichi? Visiting a friend? A new acquaintance? Have you been lured into some Lampyridae trap? Why haven't you spent the last few evenings spending every waking minute trying to tell me what you are doing? You love telling me about your life, especially when I am trying to work.

I can't tell if my palms are sweaty because I'm acting neurotic, or because it is just hot out here. Shuichi says I should wear shorts, but...

Shrrrthunk.

I'm shaken from my thoughts by the glass patio door being slid open. Finally. Maybe I'll get some answers. And this will certainly be easier than tapping the phones.

I'm so relieved to see Shuichi step outside that it takes me another full beat to realize he's only wearing a towel.

A -small- burgundy towel.

What the...?

The man who follows him into the yard stands only a few inches taller than Shuichi. Quick rundown of distinguishing features: Long purplish-black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Broad shoulders. Smiling entirely too much. He's wearing a navy blue yukata with a white sash. He looks stupid. 

Who the fuck is this guy? 

"Cigarette, Shu-chan?"

Shuichi whirls around, causing the towel to fly up at the back in a way which makes my teeth grit. The boy has no propriety. None. Sometimes, I'm not sure if he's even aware of the fact that his body is...very...

Yeah. Very.

"Yes. That'd be nice. Thanks, Okita-san." Shuichi stretches as this 'Okita' guy sticks his head back into the house and retrieves what I can only assume is a box of cigarettes.

When did Shuichi start smoking? 

At least now I know where all my lighters went.

This Okita guy smiles as he pulls out a cigarette and hands it to Shuichi. Smiles like a fucking lion admiring a tasty zebra. Damn, I wish I'd brought a gun instead of binoculars. Except I don't own a gun. Only knives. Lots of knives.

"So..." Even more smiling. This guy smiles more than Sakuma. "That was fairly exhausting, even for me."

Shuichi lights his cigarette. And he doesn't even fumble or cough. How could I not fucking notice that he's taken up smoking? "Well, if you didn't have such a tight..." The end of the sentence is eaten by a breeze. I curse the weather, and whatever witty Gods are in charge of it.

"Hai, hai..." Now this idiot is laughing. He brushes his fingers through his bangs and plops his ass down on the side of a picnic table. His feet dangle precariously over the grass, swinging back and forth. I don't think I like the distance his knees are from one another as he says, "But, next time, I want to do you in the bedroom."

I think I just bit a section of my cheek out. 

What the fuck?

Shuichi exhales a wispy cloud of smoke as he turns to look at a part of the yard I can't see from here. "How about the hammock? If I had one leg hanging over the side..."

A faint trickle of blood slides down my throat. I try not to cough. Or vomit. I can't decide which seems more urgent at the moment.

Okita-san claps his hands, "Oh yes. You read my mind, Shu-chan."

And that's when it happens, when Shuichi smiles at him, smiles back in that utterly ecstatic, chocolate bliss coated way. No. No. Those are my smiles. Those are the smiles he gives me when he thinks I'm not looking. That's mine. Mine! He loves -me-. I have proof. I have it written down on paper. Up until two days ago, he told me, every day, repeatedly, like fucking Chinese Water Torture. This is wrong! This can't be real! You can't just make someone believe something so brilliant and alive and full of hope, and then expose it to be false! 

"That's why I love you, Okita-san," Shuichi says, flicking his cigarette with expert ease into the barbeque pit. "...Because our great minds think alike."

I can't breathe. I'm suffocating. No. Drowning. Being torn into shreds. Falling. Imploding. Crushed. Stabbed. Mangled. Shot. I don't know, I don't know. It just hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Fuck, there's got to be incredibly eloquent words for this kind of pain, I should know them all. I'm a goddamn romance novelist. But there's nothing. Nothing but the word "hurt". Hurt. I hurt. And, I can't detach from it. I can't make it abstract. I can't scoff at it. I can't throw a wall in front of it. I can't give it to Tangerine and shrug it off. 

Pain is everywhere. Everywhere Shuichi ever touched me is being ripped off, ripped out, ripped away. I'm like a book, being destroyed, one page at a time. Each paragraph, every chapter, story by story, I'm being torn, crumpled up, and tossed thoughtlessly at a wastebasket.

A decade of blocking out everything, of living a life of pacific numbness, of being protected from every troublesome emotion by the walls I've built...and this...and this... Who would have known that wrecking balls come in pink?

And the pain doesn't subside. It doesn't wash away the more I think about it, the more I try to rationalize. What? What would make it go away? I have to know. There has to be something. Booze? Anger-fuck some fan? There has to be...

I can't watch as Shuichi throws his arms around Okita, as they laugh, as they walk to the part of the yard I can't see. I can't watch, and I can't stop watching. 

I can't do anything but slide out of the tree. I end up kneeling in the shadow of the oak, one hand on a thick root, the other clenching and unclenching a patch of grass. Is it...real? A lie? 

Make it stop. Please. I'll believe in you, God, if you just make the pain stop. I'll do anything, anything, just...

My cheek presses against the root. I've denuded a small patch of ground, and I can feel chunks of loamy soil underneath my fingernails. Dirty. But, not so dirty as... Several times, I try to push myself back up, just so I can puke, but nothing comes except for heaving coughs.

How I make it back to the car is a mystery. The only thought I recall is a brief hatred of the distant sunset for revealing itself in luxuriant hues of pink. The sunset is taunting me. 

I zone out while I drive. I block out every sensation and thought possible, and still can barely function. I try to grab for a cigarette, but the pack falls on the passenger side floor. Reaching over to get it would just be a convenient excuse to take my eyes off the road and run into something. Unconsciousness would definitely end the pain. So, no cigarettes.

I'm on auto-pilot. I'm ramming my fist into the dashboard, over, and over, and over, just to stay focused. I've got to...make the pain stop... There's only one place... One person...who understands...

Seguchi.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Uesugi-san, do you have an..." Tohma's secretary stands up as I brush past her, "...appointment?" The last word is clearly laced with some sort of astonishment, and punctuated with a small gasp.

Tohma's door knob is slippery, for some reason. I try, over and over, to get a good grip on it, and even end up wedging my foot against the bottom of the door and kicking for extra leverage. For fuck's sake, is his office locked?

The door finally pops open with a reverberating "thuck". I stumble inside, half due to the thick plush carpet and half because I'm shaking. 

Only Tohma knows what to do. Only Tohma can fix...this.

"Eiri-san." He looks up from that desk, a placid smile already plastered to his lips. A smile which falls, immediately, as he leaps to his feet, sending his office chair rolling backwards into the wall. 

With Tohma, there are no stupid questions. He doesn't demand to know what happened. He doesn't tell me that I look awful. There's no screaming, and never any betrayal. There's only that mildly debasing look of overwhelming pity, and I can live with that at the moment.

"Alright, come..." I look down when feel his fingers close around my wrist, and I finally realize why the door was so slippery. One of my hands is caked in blood. Must have been from slamming my fist into the dashboard, I guess. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Seguchi's unspoken promise to me is that I do not have to be anything for him. He is the only one who knows every facet of my existence, every kill, every fear, every mask, every psychosis. I can't hide from him, so I don't even have to try. 

He leads me into the private bathroom in his office and produces several stark white hand towels. I hang my head to hide from the harsh overhead lights as he rolls up my sleeve and begins cleaning my knuckles with towels dipped in hot water.

I hear a small sigh. Pity. Always pity. Tweezers now. He has to pull several pieces of jagged plastic out of my flesh. I don't know if that's from my dashboard. I might have punched something else on my way up here.  
I can't recall. I can't feel the injury... Or, at the very least, it is indistinguishable from the rest of the pain.

I don't look at Tohma as he works, but it's hard, even with my head lowered, not to catch the occasional glimpse of his bright cornsilk hair,  
or a flash of his red jacket. 

He stops and turns away to fetch disinfectant and bandages. "I tried to warn you. I wish..."

"Don't..."

"He's very young. You haven't been young since..." Tohma catches himself in time. He always does. "...for a long time. It isn't your fault." 

How does he know? I didn't tell him that this had anything to do with Shuichi! Without forethought, my injured hand twists and I end up grabbing a section of Tohma's jacket. Red velour oozes between my bandaged fingers, replacing the washed-away blood. 

I'm not sure if I grabbed him to keep him from escaping my next question, or to keep me from falling off the planet.

"You knew. You knew Shuichi was seeing someone."

Well, alright, it's not so much a question as a realization. I don't know whether to feel furious or betrayed. Or both.

Tohma places his hand on top of mine, but does not attempt to pry my fist from his jacket. From where I am sitting on the toilet, I look up to find him giving me the same look of concern a parent gives to a child who has just realized the meaning of the word 'death' for the first time. Pity. A look of pity. Because compassion and truth are mutually exclusive. "I only suspected." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Now I am the one asking the dumb questions. Childish questions. I go to bite my own tongue and realize that my mouth still tastes faintly of blood. I've gone back in time, somehow, and am twelve years old, begging Tohma to explain it to me. Explain it to me again. Fix the hurts and scrapes. Tell me how to deal with the bullies. Show me how to be more like you.

Fix it, Tohma.

Fix me. I'm broken.

Do I care that he sees me like this? Of course, of course I do. Or rather, I will. Tomorrow, when I wake up and realize that I've done it again. I'll find a way to blame Tohma, and end up avoiding him for weeks because I can't look him in the eye anymore. But, right now, being twelve years old, being a child, I do not care about consequences.

"Eiri-san..." That voice, ever-so-patient, tinged with filial admonishment, slices into me. "I told you my suspicions as best I could. You would not have believed..."

I know. If he had said anything directly, I would have called him a fool. Living in denial, living in a fantasy world wrapped up in the prettiest pink bow, I would have rebelled against anyone who tried to ruin my beloved lie.

"Come, Eiri-san. Your hand is bandaged." He's stronger than you'd imagine, Tohma is. I'm not sure if he works out, or if he just powers everything under a force of his own will. He extends an arm to help me up, and I take it. I'm pathetic. But, this is the part...the part where he will fix...me. He'll make the pain go away. He'll set everything straight, just for me.

I'm led back into his office, and I stand there, naked in my own clothes, exposed and vulnerable to Tohma's all-seeing eyes. He brushes some dirt off of my lapel. "You're hurting. I will help you. But, you must ask me. You must tell me that this is what you want."

Why does he have to make it start out this way? Why does he have to make me beg and plead? No, I know why. Because this is insane, and wrong, and completely fucked up. And the dirtier I feel about making Tohma do this, the better it will make the outcome. "I want..." My voice cracks exactly as if I were a decade younger, "...you to...do it again...oniisama."

"What is it that you want, Eiri?" The pity is gone from his voice, now. There's only authority. The game has already begun.

"Absolution. Reprieve from...agony." The absolution I can't find by praying to God. The forgiveness I will never discover, because the divine has forsaken me. The atonement I can only have by washing away pain with more pain. 

Tohma's fingers brush against my cheek. "This shall you have. Go. Your things are in the usual place."

The fact that he keeps these things here would otherwise fill me with shame. Thankfully, I can't feel shame at the moment. I can only feel the loneliness, the pain, the betrayal. The utter betrayal. Shuichi's betrayal.

I don't even have to look, I just move towards the storage closet, gravitating towards my salvation. I open it with my uninjured hand and kneel down to find the box hidden beneath the floorboard. Right where it should be, right where it always is.

Inside is a light brown wig, and some contacts.

I slip off my jacket and fold it as best I can. Behind me, I hear Tohma moving things around, preparing. He'll hide his jacket, too. I lift the wig with some amount of reverence and adjust it on my head. Already, I know...I anticipate... This will be good. This will make the pain stop. But, I mustn't get ahead of myself.

I put the contacts in and stand up.

When I turn around, I am sensei.

And Tohma...

Tohma is standing in the middle of the room, where I was before. His jacket is gone, and his undershirt is partially untucked. He's barefoot. He runs his hand through his hair to mess it up slightly. Even his posture and facial expression have changed, taking on a heretofore unknown quality of youth.

Tohma...has become me, as a teenager.

Tohma is now Eiri-chan.

"Sensei..." he says, smiling so sweetly, so innocently. God, he's good at this. "I found you. I knew you would be here! I looked all over for you."

This is so dirty. I know, I know this is wrong. I know that I like things that are wrong, messed up, inappropriate, and bad. Just like I wanted Shuichi, when I knew I should let him go. The same way I kill people for a secret organization. The way I wanted sensei. All of it is corrupt and foul and greedy and immoral.

I am not a good person.

"Of course I'm here," I say. My feet, momentarily transfixed, begin to move of their own accord. I walk over and twine my fingers lazily through Tohma's now-unkempt hair. This is narcissism, sadism, and masochism all rolled into one neat little package. "My special student, this is our night together, isn't it?"

Tohma, never betraying for an instant that he isn't me, immediately throws his arms around my waist. He rubs his face into my chest. "Sensei...I missed you."

I'm exactly the same amount repulsed as I am turned on. 

"I missed you, too, Eiri." I reach down and lift his chin so that I can stare into his eyes. Not Tohma's eyes. My eyes, the eyes of a time when I was good, and whole, and pure. It must be true, because I can see it. I can see the goodness I once held. "Look at how adult you are getting. So tall, and...so strong now..."

I'm rewarded with a smile. Tohma lets go of my waist and spins around. "You think so, sensei?" I'm so cruel to him. Tohma must be a saint to do this for me. A bodhisattva. He's a living deity, a martyr to my insanity. Which is why only he can provide absolution. Only someone who is so selfless and close to holy can give me what I require. He ends up standing with his hands on his hips. Such a frighteningly alluring pose, but containing absolutely no aspect of carnal knowledge. "Do you think I am an adult?"

"Yes." I reach out to touch him again. I need to be in physical contact with my own innocence. My hand traces his shoulder. Adoration. Approval. Base narcissism. I can only love myself through sensei's eyes. My breath becomes shallow. No. I must not rush. Soon enough. Soon enough. "And we should celebrate tonight like adults. Why don't you go bring me the wine from the bar, Eiri-chan?"

I'm dirty, hideous, repugnant underneath my mask. I'm just like sensei. But, it's alright, it's alright, because I am also here...in a purified form, as Eiri-chan. I can exist both ways. I can be both good and evil. 

"Uh...wine? Um...hai!" Good lord, he even hesitates like a youth. I watch Tohma imitate me as he walks away. Just like I know, no I hoped, sensei was always watching me. But, it wasn't dirty then. I just loved him, clean and pure and simple. There was nothing wrong about it. 

Of course, Tohma and I, we've done this so many times before that both of us know the script by heart. I can't even remember how this game of ours began. I only know that I needed it then like I need it now.

Tohma plays my part, and I play as sensei. It only works this way, not the other way around. I have to be the thing I despise, I have to become evil incarnate in order to learn the meaning of the word 'good'.

I head over to sit down on the couch, but I never take my eyes from Tohma, now 'Eiri-chan'. He does everything more slowly than it should be done, just to draw it out, just to make me wait, make me wonder if he'll really do everything right. I watch as he fumbles with the cork on the wine, like he'd never opened a bottle before. I watch as he searches the cabinet and chooses champagne flutes instead of wine glasses. I watch as he pads over to the couch, barefoot, biting his lip as if nervous and unsure.

I can't help but squirm.

He'll pour the glass of wine, and take a sip, and then hand it to me. I crave the scent of that drink, that forbidden strawberry wine, expensive and obscure. It's really too sweet to drink, too pungent. A dessert wine that lays fallow on the tongue, rotting your tastebuds. I can't help but gulp it down. 

There must be Communion before Absolution.

This is the blood that I crave, the essence of deity.

This is my blood. Drink this in remembrance of me.

"You must be thirsty, sensei. You drank it all." Tohma kneels down in front of me. Yes. Yes. Make me holy. Make me sinless. Show me awe. Show me faith. Show me all the things I once had. Reveal what I lost, and then give everything back. Fix me. He's so angelic, there,  
kneeling in front of me, looking up at me like I gazed up at sensei. 

Worshipful.

What are you waiting for, Tohma? Say your line! Say it!

"If you are hungry, too, I can find something for you to eat, sensei."

That's right. That's how it goes. My panic subsides as I lean back against the couch, my knees apart. "You're the hungry one, isn't that right, Eiri-chan?" I hold out my hand to him as Tohma stares at me with a perfect mimicry of confusion. I let the sexual innuendo of the next word roll off my lips. "Come."

Tohma takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto my lap. He straddles me so innocently, so freely, as if he didn't know, the way I really didn't know...back then. He finds some magical way to make his body even smaller and more frail than it really is. Now, now I take his wrist, firmly, almost harshly, and pull it to my lips. This, just this, I'm allowed just this small concession, of loving myself in this way. 

Loving myself through sensei's eyes.

"Yes, sensei?" He whispers to me now, careful, as always, not to break the spell at this point. Tohma's face pulls alongside my own. "What is it?" 

His ear draws close to my mouth.

"Tell me..."

Wisps of his hair brush against my cheek.

"...what it is..."

A timid hand comes to rest on the outside of my thigh. I try not to roll my hips.

"...that you are thinking..."

Shuichi. Shuichi... Why did you betray me? Why does everyone betray me? Sensei, Uriel, and now you. Is it...because I am a bad person? Deep at my core, beneath the walls, beneath the masks, beneath the lie... Is it because I deserve this?

For what I have done, is this my punishment? Losing you is my punishment.

"...Sensei."

And, I begin to whisper then. I can feel my lips occasionally brush against the soft curve of his ear as I confess. Dirt, grime, filth, these things pour from my mouth. Sins of the flesh, criminal desires, thoughts of causing pain to others, everything I've kept inside. Fantasies,  
dreams, passing ideas which would make even a hardened psychiatrist flinch. I let it all out, corrupting my younger self, purifying who I am now, the monster that I have become. Thus the cycle continues.

It has been so long since my last confession.

I quickly lose all sense of time. I could be speaking for minutes, or possibly for hours, I know not. Tohma never moves, never turns away. Very soon, a familiar drowsiness overtakes my senses. My hands, limp against the expensive leather couch, grow numb. My eyelids feel thick, heavy, and sticky. Every breath cleaner than the last, calmer, I finally become silent.

"Sensei..." How does he do this? The innocent voice is gone, disappeared like a sugar cube in hot tea. Now the sound oozes, syrupy grenadine, infused with carnal potency. 

"Sensei..." With utter certainty, Tohma's fingers slide up the front of my shirt. They never pause, not once, as they slip over my chest, as fingernails graze along my neck, caress my temples. "Close your eyes."

"Yes..." I am spellbound. Plunged into darkness behind my own eyelids, I am lost, I am lost, but the shadows are gone. Fingernails rake through my hair, removing the wig on my head. I am not sensei. I am...

"Open your eyes, Eiri-chan."

I open my eyes to find sensei looking back at me.

"Sensei..." He's here with me, again. Resurrected into Tohma's body, sensei looks down at me. He wants me, he wants me. He loves me. He... "Forgive me, sensei, please..." 

Forgive me. I need to be forgiven. I need to be saved...from myself. I thought Shuichi would save me, I thought he would be the one. But Shuichi...was only lying.

"I forgive you, Eiri-chan." 

And strong hands cup my chin. Strong thumbs stroke my lips. Strangely powerful hands slide over my throat, and begin to squeeze. It's an amazing feeling, being strangled, being deprived of oxygen. So peaceful, you remember a time and a place before breath, an ancient and magical era before the divine gave us life. A time when, we too, were gods. 

As he throttles me, everything becomes hazy, ringed with fuzzy multicolored halos. Sensei's halo is the brightest of all. Before I lose consciousness, he and I, we come to an understanding. Standing on the precipice between life and death, we exchange hate for love, evil for goodness, and sin for absolution.

Godless, but forgiven, I pass out murmuring the name of my own personal Judas.

"...Shuichi."

Still, even now...

I can't stop thinking of you.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In Our Next Chapter: A fire. That pesky rival author shows up again. Eiri tries to figure out how to rescue Shuichi from Lampyridae, even though Shuichi is cheating on him. 

Author Notes:

In case you didn't catch it, Ryuichi said: "Oh, but I know where Shu-chan is. But, I'm not gonna tell you anyway, na no da."

Yeah, alright, so I just had to stick Okita in there. It is not important to know who he is. And, if you're not a reader of my other (non-Gravi) stories, you won't miss anything important by not knowing. But, you would have extra clues in the mystery...maybe.

No, Tohma and Eiri do -not- have sex in some sort of "offstage" way or something. Don't even ask me to write it. I should point out that the last scene was inspired by an author who does not want to be named, but who wrote the best Tohma and Eiri story ever. My hat is off to you, anonymous one. Now, I will drop the subject.

Review Notes:

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm sorry that it takes me so long to write each chapter, but I do intend on finishing this story. I really appreciate your patience with me. Thank you again. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. 


	5. Holding a Torch

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Five: Holding a Torch

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

This is sleep. This is blissful, sinless, holy sleep. This is the sleep you can no longer have. Forbidden sleep. This is the sleep which comes with absolution.

I do not recall what day it occurred for me, but I know it happens for everyone. One day, waking up is no longer a magical event. You no longer open your eyes to the world with wonder, with awe. The world stops being an adventure, ceases to be the new coin found at the foot of the water fountain, gifting you with a free wish. The world is tarnished past that day, and waking up is a chore. Blankets are merely objects to be cast aside, instead of warm sources of comfort. You don't even notice the carpet squishing between your toes as you walk to the bathroom to greet the other you in the mirror.

This is a virginity which you don't even realize you are losing, as the world rapes your senses and leaves you jaded.

I open one eye and peer into nonsensical lines and colors. I'm caught in some sort of abstract painting. The world, for a second, does not coalesce. It is a plate of sticky orange wedges clinging to stormy plastic waves on a sky of palest pink. It is a waterfall of jagged angles spilling into an out-of-focus horizon.

What sort of place is this? A quasi-dream world, before we remember our aches and troubles. This is a single moment in which we are all the very same age. This is what waking was like in the Garden of Eden.

"Ah, you're awake? There's coffee. And sliced fruit. You should have the fruit, Eiri-san. You don't eat enough."

I grunt and pull the nearest pillow over my face. In just a few seconds, the world went from bliss to over-bright, over-annoying, and over-depressing. And, it is a world full of the smiling face of Seguchi Tohma. I don't even have to look to know that.

He'll be sitting at his desk, wearing the same suit as yesterday. I don't even know if he sleeps or not, since he's always awake before I am. He'll be sitting there; his tie perfectly straight, his hair immaculate, and he'll already be working on some document or other.

It's like last night never happened.

There will be not a trace of the entire ordeal. The room has been fastidiously cleaned, and is now exactly the same as when I arrived yesterday. Tohma will not mention what occurred. Ever. To me, or to anyone. That moment of mysticism, of magical transformation, never happened. There are no witnesses. Even we, Tohma and I, erase it from our minds.

Though, it's a bit more difficult to erase it from my body. The residual effects of whatever opiate Tohma puts in the wine to relax me will remain for a few more hours yet. (Thankfully, however, Tohma is careful enough not to bruise my neck when he strangles me. Well, not anymore. We've had a lot of practice.) Nonetheless, I feel clear-headed and calm. Perhaps I am too calm for the current situation. But, that's better than being broken.

The Eiri from last night is gone. The one who is here now would never crack. He requires no assistance from anyone. With Tohma's help, my walls have been reconstructed. I refuse to be hurt by Shuichi's betrayal. I refuse. I am not that sort of person. Other people are incapable of hurting me. Everything outside of my walls is inconsequential.

But, Shuichi is now…

Nevermind, nevermind. I can't think about that. Not now. Later.

"No fruit."

Tohma gives me one of those looks. One that means he's older and far wiser than me. Nonetheless, he drops the issue, which is good, because I don't want to get into the whole discussion of when I last ate. Tohma stands up from his desk, and brings the coffee over to me. He sets it on the end table, and puts two sugar packets beside the cup, along with an immaculately polished spoon.

I ignore the sugar. I've been taking my coffee black since I was sixteen, and Tohma knows it.

"Eiri-san, I've made a reservation for you at your usual hotel. They have a laptop waiting for you. I'll have your things sent…"

"No."

Tohma's smile doesn't flinch, but I can see it in his eyes. That pitying look, that too-concerned look. He sits down on the couch, next to me. "Eiri-san, about Shindou-san…"

"That's my business."

His lips part, but he says nothing. He wants to say that it was his business last night, but he won't. I sip my coffee in silence. I want a cigarette, but not in here. It's just another reason for Tohma to lecture me with his eyes. At least, with all of this, Tohma wouldn't even think of giving me another assignment right now. I don't think I could handle that, on top of everything else.

I put my coffee mug back down on the end table, and something intriguing catches my eye. There are framed pictures. I've seen them all a dozen times. Several pictures of Tohma's band. A picture of one of his wedding anniversaries. There's one of me at my first book signing. A photo of the dedication of the NG building. And…

No. Wait. The picture of the anniversary The anniversary. Something about this picture…

I pick it up and stare. Mika in her expensive dress. Tohma looking pristine and long-sufferingly genial. Tatsuha. Ukai-san. That dumb Sakuma. I'm off to the side, smoking. Someone is raising a glass, but you can only see his arm. The rest of the picture is cut off.

"Did you want one of those pictures, Eiri-san? I'm sure that Mika-san still has copies of them."

I turn the frame around and undo the hinges. Carefully, I pull out the cardboard backing, and then remove the picture.

"It's folded," I say. I flip the folded section out from behind the picture. The man raising the toast… "It's Uriel."

Tohma leans a little closer to me, in order to get a better look at the picture. Now, and only now, is when his smile fails. "That's right before K-san had to remove him."

I'd completely forgotten. I think that was the drunkest I'd ever seen Uriel get. And, the man was virtually an alcoholic, so that's saying a lot. I bring the picture a little closer to my face. Uriel is scowling, and quite a bit of his hair has escaped his ponytail. The way his hair frames his face…

"Did you know that he confronted Mika-san that evening? In one of the hallways. He pressed her against the wall and threatened her. We'd been talking about selling NG and moving to the states. Retiring. Nothing serious. Just an idea. But, Uriel was upset about the possibility that Exile would disband. He blamed Mika-san for giving me the idea."

Tohma shakes his head a little, and then reaches over to touch the photograph. His finger lands on Uriel's shoulder. "I should have gotten rid of him that very night, expelled him from Exile, but I thought it was just the alcohol…"

I had forgotten all about that. Uriel and I had even traded punches over the whole thing. But, he eventually apologized, and all was forgiven.

I glance at Tohma. He has a rather forlorn look in his eyes, though he's retrieved his smile, and slathered it back onto his face. "Tohma. You and Uriel…"

Tohma's fingers curl into his hand, away from the glossy photo. The singsong sweetness of his voice hides every nuance of what may or may not be true about his emotions. "I love my wife, Eiri-san. Our marriage may have had problems in the past, but I love her now, and I have always loved her."

So, it is true. Uriel and Tohma were fucking. I'd always suspected, but just really didn't care to know the truth.

New rule number one for writers, assassins, and apparently everyone else on the entire fucking planet: No one is ever faithful or loyal to anyone. Ever. Just cope with the fact, and move on with your life.

I stuff the picture of Uriel into my pocket without even asking Tohma and stand up. "I'm leaving."

"Eiri-san, please…"

I feel the corner of my lip turn up. He means well. He always means well. But, Tohma doesn't know that Uriel, now Lucifer, is here. And, he's hunting Shuichi. Sure, Shuichi cheated on me. Apparently, the whole festering human race just cheats, betrays, and lies. Cruelty to our fellow humans is the planetary pastime. Humans are monsters. We should all be quarantined from one another.

Nonetheless, it doesn't mean I can just let Lucy get what he wants.

I head for the door, and completely ignore the pointed look that Tohma is surely giving to the back of my head.

"By the way," I say as my hand grips the doorknob. "If Sakuma ever breaks into my house again, I'll rip out his tongue and make that damn plush toy wear it as a necktie."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I decide to pass by Bad Luck's recording studio. As much as I don't care for Nakano, when it concerns Shuichi, he's the one most likely to be in the know. Unfortunately, there's no good way to drag information out of Nakano. You can't intimidate him, and you can't bribe him. He's like a solid rock of loyalty, and considering my new number one rule, it means he can't possibly be a living human being. He's more like a boulder. And, you can't manipulate a boulder without a really big mechanical crane. I'm currently lacking in the crane department.

I make a deal with myself that I won't question Nakano about how long Shuichi has been cheating on me. I make a vow, a promise, that I'll keep my questions relevant only to keeping Shuichi safe from Lampyridae agents. It's none of my business who Shuichi fucks. I don't care. It just makes it easier for me. I don't have to worry about Shuichi being so attached to me.

Attachment. Attachment to desires, to objects, to people. It is attachment which brings feelings of loss. We can't ever actually lose anything, since we are in possession only of ourselves, and some of us aren't even very good at holding onto _that_. These feelings of loss are illusory, and certainly transient. I never _had_ Shuichi. He didn't _belong_ to me, so it is completely irrational to get upset over losing him.

Oh, how amusing. At the lowest valley, in the darkest hour, my father's utterly useless teachings start filtering into my head. Buddhism. It's the ultimate refuge for stoics going through a life-crisis.

Once, after taking a class on World Religions in school, I came home and asked my father, "Dad, is there a God?"

You know what he said in reply? "Maybe. Can't see how it really matters. Go clean the koi pond."

What I should have asked him was if there is any damn cure for the human condition besides lobotomy or death.

My footsteps echo in the hall, bouncing off glossy too-waxed linoleum and pictures of bands with angst-filled faraway looks in their eyes. This place reminds me less of a rock-and-roll studio and more of an insane asylum for fame-obsessed fuckwits. And to think, somewhere in the bowels of this building are cabinets full of pictures. Pictures of men I've killed. Pictures of men I'll probably kill in the future. The absurdity of the very existence of NG being a cover for Exile isn't lost on me. Hiding in plain sight is always the best way to go.

I try the door to the Bad Luck studio and find it locked. Of course. It's godforsaken-o'clock in the morning. I can't believe I actually expected any of them to be at work.

"Ah, uh…Yuki-san, isn't it?"

I turn to find Shuichi's producer stumbling down the hallway towards me. He's got an armful of papers, as well as a briefcase. What sort of idiot doesn't put his papers _into_ his briefcase?

I don't have any clue where Seguchi found this moron. As far as I can tell, all he ever does is flip out about every little goddamn thing. He looks like he should be a CPA, not a high-powered music agent.

I squint at Sakano as he tries to juggle his wares while fishing in his pocket for the key to the studio at the same time. "If you're looking for Shindou-san, I haven't seen him yet this morning, but…" Sakano shakes his head, "I mean... Can I help you with anything in particular?"

"Do you know anyone named 'Okita'?" Crap. I promised myself. Wait. That promise was only in regards to Nakano, so it doesn't really count, anyway.

"Okita, Okita, Okita…" Sakano finally gets the door unlocked and pushes it open. "Isn't he one of the tour technicians? Short guy? Purplish hair?"

Fuck. A tour technician? Is that like a professional roadie? How many tours has Shuichi done? I can't remember. How many nights on the road with this Okita guy does that make? How long has this been going on?

"Are you looking for Okita-kun, Yuki-san? I could find his phone number for you."

"No."

Sakano flips on the lights and moves busily around the recording studio, testing this, adjusting that. It seems monotonously pointless to me. "I…uh…was sort of hoping you'd drop by, Yuki-san. There's something I wanted to ask you regarding Shindou-san. I hope I'm not out of line, but it's had me more than a bit worried."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, a few weeks ago, when I was going to get my car out of NG's parking garage, I saw Shindou-san having a seemingly heated conversation with a rather frightening-looking individual. I thought I saw the man pull a knife, but with my poor eyesight, it could have been anything metallic, really." Sakano stops messing around with the knobs on some random piece of equipment and looks up at me. "You don't think Shindou-san is in any sort of trouble, do you?"

A few weeks ago? And he only brings it to my attention now? How considerate. I should show this asshole what a knife really looks like, so that next time he'll do something besides just sit on that kind of information. Damnit!

And why didn't Shuichi tell me? If Lampyridae agents were already harassing him, why didn't he ask for my help? Or, maybe he doesn't need my help, now that he has that Okita guy.

"What did he look like?"

Sakano blinks a few times. "Who?"

I wish I had a hundred yen note for every time someone asked me a stupid question. "The man talking to Shuichi."

"Well, I didn't get a good look, but… I think he wasn't too terribly tall. Black hair in a ponytail. Um, a sort of low, gravely voice."

Shit. Fuck. Damn. That cocksucker. That motherfucker. Uriel. Lucifer. I loathe you. I loathe you.

What did he do to Shuichi? What did he say? Did he tell him about Exile? Did Lucy tell Shuichi about me? Is that why he ran to that Okita-asshole's arms? Is that why Shuichi no longer tells me that he loves me? Is this the punishment that Lucy planned all along, not to kill Shuichi, but to take him away from me by puncturing the carefully crafted lie of my existence? How can I blame Shuichi? How can I blame him for being disgusted with all the lies that I've told him? How can I blame him for being repulsed by the monster beneath the mask?

The truth is the monster. All else are merely pleasant trappings to keep the monster from having to look in the mirror too often.

Sakano is staring at me. A sheet of paper falls from his fingers and floats, to and fro, onto the floor. "Yuki-san, you're suddenly quite pale. Are you ill? I recall your visit to the hospital. Perhaps I should call someone for you?"

He takes several steps towards me, looking mousy and nervous, as if waiting for an unplanned apocalypse to break out at any moment. His blue-black tie hangs on the outside of his jacket, ever-so-slightly crooked. My fingers yearn to grab it, crave to strangle him, burn to watch the fear in his eyes grow infinite. Like all ignorant men, what is this Sakano but a blight upon the earth? Why should I wreak vengeance on the world for the sake of the innocent? They've never done a damn thing for me. Let them taste the horror of their own weakness.

He reaches out a hand, I suppose to touch me, to shake me from my reverie. It's vile, this flesh, this meat which encases our nothingness. You can not save anyone, because no one will lift a finger to save themselves. My existence is a farce, futile at best, absurd at worst. I should have joined Lampyridae when I had the chance.

I should have seen what Uriel meant. But, I wished to remain ignorant, and hopeful.

I miss my partner. I should have listened to him. He knew, all along, that no matter how much of a gloss we put on the act, we're still just murderers. Uriel was just trying to save me from having to find out the hard way. I loathe him. I miss him. Just like sensei.

Sakano turns out to be extremely lucky today. I don't kill him. Not here, not at NG. Don't eat where you shit. Don't kill where you roost.

I don't kill him. I just use the flat of my palm to shove him backwards. His ankle bumps a table leg, and he ends up sprawled out on the floor. A pile of papers slides off the table, and half-buries him. An avalanche of his own pathetic hubris. I think I might have broken his glasses. Who knows? It doesn't matter to me.

"You fell," I say blandly, "How clumsy."

I don't wait for his reply. Much more time in NG, and I'm likely to stab several employees. I leave Sakano there, scrambling around on the floor, picking up papers.

It's too bad. He'd have bled nicely.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I grind my teeth as I drive. If hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Earth hath no fury like a writer foiled. I should have seen Lucy's plan. I should have known the course his plot would take.

Rule Number Eight for Writers and Assassins: It's always when the protagonist thinks he has the plot figured out that everything goes desperately awry.

Where can I go? What can I do but go home? Shuichi deserves to have his moment of accusing me of all my crimes, of exposing all of my lies to my face. I can not deny him his chance to scorn me. He should scorn me. He should loathe me. Every drop of blood I've shed is one more reason why Shuichi should spit on me.

I must go home, I must. Because, though I know that it will surely be the end of the grand fantasy I've lived, I'm crushed with some irrational hope. This hope… I find myself hoping Shuichi I will say that even though I'm a monster, even though we can not be together, he understands me, and he forgives me.

I'm a bigger idiot than Sakuma.

On the road, I pass cardboard people and paper houses. The sun sits on the horizon, speckling the sky with cartoon pinks and crayon reds. Everything mocks me with its fakeness. The reality of the world slips away, leaving only post-nuclear burnt-in shadows. Fences and shop windows are merely theater curtains concealing puppet-shows of the surreal. All the world is a stage, and all the people are merely termites devouring gaudy set pieces.

The road snakes on and on, reminding me of the first time I ever drank and drove. It seemed I could never reach my destination. No matter how slow or how fast, the road elongated itself to prevent me from actually traveling anywhere. I can't tell if I am speeding or procrastinating.

I come to a stoplight, and the city springs back to life. It's as if my momentary motionlessness requires better theater. Beyond the air conditioned confines of my car, Tokyo becomes a kabuki production where everyone is a caricature of themselves.

That's when I see it. Two real people among the actors. It's one of those corner cafes, with airy eaves and sweaty glasses of imported water on wrought-iron tables. Mizuki's wearing those hideous Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses she adores, and waving her laminated menu at a waiter. Sighting my editor at an outdoor café, in itself, would be unremarkable, not even worth mentioning….

Except that she's sitting across from none other than my rival, Akasugi Naoko!

What in the holy living assfuck of Buddha's mother is _that_ about?

Mizuki laughs and swats playfully at Akasugi's shoulder with her menu when he says something apparently charming. What? How can she be dining with the enemy? She knows how much I loathe that greasy, obnoxious, oozing asswhore.

What the hell am I thinking? I'm actually getting jealous that my editor is taking brunch with a talentless, cross-dressing, jizz-rag at a time like this? This is preposterous. I don't have time to deal with the intrigues of the publishing world.

Fuck Mizuki. I should have known she'd sell out. Why the hell did I trust her? Fuck Tangerine. Fuck my novels. And fuck you, Akasugi Naoko, fuck you roughly with a rusty piece of barbed wire.

I peel out when the light turns green. I don't even care if they see my car. I don't care of they hear the screeching of my tires. That bitch! That backstabbing whore!

You can't trust anyone.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Tungesh tries to flag me down as I race past the newsstand. I ignore him. I don't have time for a lazy conversation about whether or not Raskolnikov was insane, or if Aldous Huxley was better _before_ or _after_ he started taking LSD. I can't even spare a second to check my rankings in the trade journals. I'm not a writer anymore, anyway.

I'm just a murderer, pretending to be a writer, fascinated by the fiction of love.

I pull up to my building, and proceed to slam my car door so hard the bang reverberates across the neighborhood. The gunshot quality of the noise shakes some of the anger from me. I need to gather my wits, but I find all of my thoughts scattered like a haystack in a tornado.

Please let Shuichi be home. Please let something miraculous happen. Please, make me believe that I'm wrong about something.

Is there anyone listening? I know I'm a bad man. I know I deserve nothing in this world. But, if, just this once, you answer my prayers, I'll do anything you ask. I'll give anything you want. My fame? My freedom? My flesh? It's yours.

I know you can't bargain with the divine. I know that a prayer is just a wish, and we must make our own way in this world. Still, I'm asking, as humbly as a monster can, for this small favor.

I fish out my keys and unlock the door. The apartment smells of burnt food, and the television is blaring. Unfortunately, this isn't always a sign that Shuichi is actually here. He always forgets to turn off the damn television.

I toss my keys onto an end table, and force of my throw causes them to slide off onto the floor. I don't bother to stop and pick them up.

I head into the livingroom. He's not there. I ignore the television and storm into the kitchen. Burnt food. He's got to be cooking. No one can fuck up breakfast like Shuichi.

No, there's no one here. And the kitchen is fairly clean. Damn. Maybe he left a…

Note.

I tear it off the fridge, and several cheap magnets clatter to the floor.

"Yuki! Left you some breakfast. Scraped off all the burnt parts, too. Call me when you get home, okay? And... Oh yeah. Some guy named Tungesh called. Isn't that the newsstand guy? Okay. Call me. Don't forget. –Shuichi."

How… I can't believe I missed him. Nakano must have just picked him up. Or… Well, I don't want to think who else could have picked him up. I sink into one of our kitchen chairs and stare at the note.

He still didn't say 'I love you'. How ridiculous. Of course he didn't. If I were in his shoes, I'd have probably waited in the kitchen with the SWAT team.

Still, how can he be so casual? How can he say things like nothing has changed between us? I don't understand it, not at all.

I rummage around in my pocket and dig out my cellphone. I'm not going to call him. Of course not. What would I say? I'll just have to wait for tonight, wait until he gets home.

I'll call and see what the hell Tungesh wants, I guess.

I flip the phone open, and… Well, it appears I turned it off at some point yesterday. Probably after I left Shuichi and Okita-whomever. I don't recall. I was a bit off my rocker at the time.

I click the button to turn the phone on. A little screen advertising my cellular provider pops up, and then it switches to the main menu.

What the…?

"**You have 43 messages."**

You've got to be kidding me. I dial my voice mail and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey Yuki! I was just wondering where you were. I guess you went to the liquor store or something. Um. See you soon. Love you."

"Hey Yuki, why's your cellphone off? Did you forget to charge it again? You're so forgetful when you're working on a novel. Okay, call me. I love you!"

"Uhh…Yuki? Are you there? I'm gonna order pizza, so come home soon, okay? Love you!"

"Oh boy, this is good pizza, and you're not gonna get any. Your loss. Did you get lost? I think I should buy you one of those GPS things. I hope you're alright. If you can get to a phone, call me, okay? I love you."

"Yuki, I'm a little worried now. Please call me, even if you're mad at me for something. Even if you want to just yell at me. I don't mind. I love you so much!"

"Yuki…. Please come home. I love you."

"Yuki…. I'm scared. I love you. Please be alright."

After about the twentieth message, I can't take anymore.

Every single message… Every single time he called, he said it.

"Yuki… I love you."

"Yuki… I love you."

Shuichi… Shuichi…

You're a crueler monster than I could ever be.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In Our Next Chapter: Eiri gets some news from Tungesh. Another fire breaks out. Eiri and Shuichi finally figure out a large section of what's going on… And (should the chapter unfold as planned), Uriel/Lucy's identity is finally revealed!

Author's Notes: Alright, I don't think they actually have those sorts of swear words in Japanese. Chuckle. You'll just have to forgive me on that one.

I decided to call this chapter "Holding a Torch" for two reasons. Because of the romantic image it conjures, of holding a torch for someone, and hoping that your love comes back to you. And, also because it makes me think of villagers chasing down a monster while holding torches.

Special thanks to all reviewers, both on gurabite and I'm so glad you continue to enjoy this very AU, very bizarre story, which sometimes surely does not seem to make any damn sense. I know reading an AU is always taking a chance that someone is going to fuck up the story beyond all recognition, so I am glad you are taking a chance on this story. So, thank you to Patosan, Dana, bakayarona, xenophyle, Satanic-Purple-Onion, Ashcat, Heroin Girl (He didn't.), Sesshoumaru-bishounen, gyoki, Taunting, Brittanga (Damn, you're good.), Cetsunai, Aacire, firedraygon, smoondigiboy, akuma-river, Guren, animegirl12182, Reiannah, Lily Avalon (Who knows?), and Saiyajin Peach 18.


	6. The Pyromaniac Emerges

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Six: The Pyromaniac Emerges

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

You know how, sometimes, you can stare at something for so long, it becomes disconnected from itself? It loses meaning and purpose. Once, after sensei, I... I was sitting in Seguchi's kitchen. He gave me a glass of cola, and then went off to talk to one of his lawyers on the phone.

I had done a lot of crying. I knew it was pathetic for a boy to cry, but I couldn't stop. I didn't know how else to deal with what had happened. If I could cry myself senseless, then I'd become almost catatonic. That's what crying is, I think. There's a high to it, something chemical that it does to the brain. Something that we instinctively know we need. Cry hard enough and long enough, and the neurons overdose. Your brain begins to shut down, and attempts to protect itself from bits of sadness. Grief's own counterbalance. Detached numbness.

It's also how people like me begin to build walls. Eventually, we don't even need crying to attain the numbness we require. It's just always there.

That glass of cola... I think it was called Mr. Pibb. I remember...

I was sitting at Tohma's kitchen table. White formica with a stylish red inset of a nine-pointed star and a chrome border. Clean. So clean, one doubted it had ever been used, just like the perfectly cylindrical glass which held the Mr. Pibb. 

I couldn't think of anything to be happy about. I knew that if I did think of anything happy, I'd begin to associate that thing with what happened to sensei, and it would never make me happy again. Everything good was slowly being turned disgusting by my mind. I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know how to stop the world from wilting, from shriveling, from withering into something horrific and unrecognizable. 

Staring at the Mr. Pibb, I decided to try to think only about the glass of cola. This would be safe, because cola didn't make me happy, or sad. Cola was just cola, and I felt no attachment to it.

I wouldn't let my mind go back to sensei. I would think only about Mr. Pibb. I'd memorize every zig-zagging bubble, the sound of the fizz, the not-quite-brown, not-quite-red, color of the liquid. I'd focus on the patina of the glass, the reflective properties of both the cola and its container. I'd fill my senses up with Mr. Pibb, so much that there wouldn't be any room to think about sensei.

After staring at the glass for a long enough time, everything else in the room began to disappear. I couldn't feel my own body anymore, and I wondered if I'd found a way to stop time. The glass of cola stopped having meaning as an object relative to all other objects. I didn't know what it was, or who I was. I wondered if I was a glass of cola looking at a motionless young man. 

And that's when I thought to myself, "Maybe I can trade places with a glass of cola."

I figured it would be better to be an inanimate object than Uesugi Eiri. Uesugi Eiri killed people he loved. But, even before that, Uesugi Eiri wasn't much liked by anyone. In Japan, classmates laughed at me. But, in America, they just ignored me. Even my family didn't really seem to care. They just passed me off to my brother-in-law, the only person decent enough to give a damn.

But, a simple glass of cola has none of these worries.

My arm felt exceedingly heavy when I lifted it, as if it were filled with tightly-packed sand. I stretched out one fingertip, and pushed it against the glass. That's how you transfer souls, according to my teenage mind. The warmth in my fingertip leaked out into the glass. When I pulled my hand away, it left behind a perfectly oval fingerprint. All I received from the transfer was a bit of moist condensation.

I was still me, and the cola was still cola. 

I tried again, this time a little more forcefully. I had to switch with the drink. It was the only way out. Once again, it didn't work. So, over and over and over, I pressed my finger to the glass.

One definition of insanity is: Doing the same thing over and over, hoping for different results.

When Tohma found me, I was sitting perfectly still, staring blankly at the empty formica table. He said not to worry, not to fret. It was just a glass of cola, he'd clean it up. He said to stay there, he didn't want me to get shards of broken glass in my feet.

I turned my head, and looked at the floor. 

My fingerprint stared back at me from a jagged piece of glass.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sometimes, you can stare at something long enough that it becomes disconnected from itself. It no longer has the meaning which human minds have assigned to it. Once, it was a glass of Mr. Pibb. Today it's a pack of cigarettes sitting on my coffee table. You know, I think people don't really look at the things in their lives with unbiased eyes until they are faced with the prospect of losing those things.

Cigarettes. Shuichi's right. They're bad for me. But, I think he doesn't understand addiction. Shuichi doesn't comprehend the consequences of being powerless to put aside the things that are bad for you. He's never had a real addiction, as far as I can tell.

I wonder why he started smoking.

I imagine the little wrinkles in the cellophane wrapper around my cigarette box to be spelling out some sort of cosmic message. I imagine all the people involved in making a box of cigarettes. I try to conjure up the smell of fresh tobacco in my mind. The texture of the filter against my lips, the sound of a lighter, each curl of smoke. I fill my senses with a box of cigarettes.

This is how you avoid thinking. This is the meditation of materialism. 

This is writing, and consequently why I like writing so much. It is the best way to forget what a fucking asshole you are.

The television continues to blare. I'm almost afraid to turn it off, for fear that Shuichi won't come home and turn it on again. My depression is laced with the abject stupidity of listening to loud noise. Because if Shuichi isn't here to annoy me, something should be.

Rule number nine for writers and assassins: Happy endings are a lie.

"Uesugi-san?" I look up to find Tungesh standing in the doorway. He looks a bit disheveled, with his usually slicked-back hair falling in his face and the left half of his shirt untucked. "I'd been knocking for a while, and calling your name... Well, it was open, so I just..."

Well, everyone else breaks into my house. Why not the guy who runs the local newsstand, too? 

"I don't really have the time to discuss literature right now." I don't. I should be trying to figure out what's going on with my supposed boyfriend. I should be at my editor's office, threatening to switch publishers. I should be grabbing every knife I own and planning out a detailed strategy to find and eliminate my ex-partner. But, all I am doing is sitting my living-room, staring at a box of cigarettes.

"No, I didn't come for that, I wanted to..." Tungesh walks over and squats down next to the couch. "Uesugi-san, you don't look good. Is something going on? Let me guess. Fight with Shindou-san?"

I grunt and pick up my pack of cigarettes. You can analyze something to death, but in the end, a thing is what it is. A box of cigarettes is a box of cigarettes. A murderer is a murderer. A lie is a lie.

But, why didn't Shuichi's phone messages -feel- like a lie?

I glance over at Tungesh. He really looks genuinely concerned. In this light, though, there's something about his eyes that I've never noticed before. Maybe it's because he's usually outside, and he wears sunglasses all the time. They are kind eyes, on the surface, but below the facade lives a cutting wisdom about things most people wouldn't comprehend. I can't quite put my finger on it.

"I've grown fond of you and Shindou-san. Who would have known that famous people could be so..." Tungesh chuckles a little. "Real? Just regular people like anyone else I know."

I wonder if he's ever going to get around to making a point. "Yeah. Regular." 

"That's why I was worried. Some people have been around asking about you, Uesugi-san."

Asking about me? Damn. "Probably just the press. Ignore them, and they'll buzz off eventually."

"I wish they were just journalists. But, they showed me their identification. They were government agents. They kept asking about some exile. I thought for sure they might deport me. Seriously, Uesugi-san, if you two are in trouble, I'll do my best to help out."

Government agents asking about Exile? FUCK!

No, no. No need to panic. I'll just tell Seguchi. He knows how to "handle" these sorts of things. That's what he's good at doing.

Still, I have to wonder if this is all part of Uriel's plan. Would he stoop that incredibly low? No. I don't think he wants me behind bars. He can't watch me fall to pieces if I am in prison.

Who, then? Or, how?

"It's nothing to be concerned about," I tell Tungesh, as calmly as possible. No need to alert the neighbors to the fact that I moonlight for a vigilante organization. 

I need a PDA just to keep track of the many ways in which my life is falling apart.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Tungesh hangs around for only a few minutes, and then excuses himself to get back to his newsstand. At least there's someone who doesn't overstay his welcome or ask too many stupid questions. And actually, despite the fact that he brought me bad news, I feel slightly better. At least Tungesh has no reason to lie to me, or jerk me around. He's just...a normal sort of person. 

Though, that isn't exactly difficult to achieve, when you consider the sorts of people I know.

But, I do feel better, for some reason. I don't know why. Maybe it's just that... Maybe knowing that someone cares... No, it isn't even that. I don't give a shit if people care about me.

There's a whole world I've created. The phantasm, the fantasy I've built. The famous romance novelist... This place which I believe to be a home... And then there's Shuichi. 

There exists a warmth within these things, a warmth and comfort such as I have never before known. Maybe it is a stupid dream, a ridiculous farce. Maybe these lies only barely cover up the monster within me. But, this is what I wanted. I want these things, despite the fact that I don't deserve them. 

Even though it is better for Shuichi, and probably better for me, if we're apart... I still want to keep the lie.

Sure. I could pack my bags and run off to find Uriel. He'd take me in, and together we'd destroy Exile. After that, we'd kill indiscriminately. We'd begin a process of purging the world of those creatures which do not face the reality of their own existence. I could revel in the surreal horror of my monstrous nature.

But, that's not what I want. 

I want the lie.

I want the immeasurable stress of trying to beat my publisher's deadline.

I want phone calls from the press, and obnoxious teenage girls weeping about how much I moved them with my novels.

I want an idiotic pop star who burns toast, has never read a book that doesn't include pictures, and who can't, for the life of him, remember to turn off the goddamn television when he leaves the house.

I want Shuichi. I want him to tell me that he loves who I want to be, instead of who I am, or who I have been. I want him to tell me today, and tomorrow, and when I have arthritis and wear dentures.

And I will fight any man, beast, or deity who gets in the way of what I want.

I pick up the remote and shut off the television.

It's time to go get Shuichi. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I formulate my plan while I drive. First, I'll go talk to Shuichi. If it is true, if what he kept saying in those phone messages is true, then together we'll figure something out. I will not strangle that Okita, even if he did sleep with my boyfriend. (But, I might threaten him a little.)

Then, I'll go talk to Seguchi. I'll ask his help in tracking down Uriel and Lampyridae. I'll tell him about the damn government agents which have been snooping around. He'll probably send me into hiding, but what do I care? As long as Shuichi's there, and they have electricity for my laptop, we can muddle through.

And then I'll call Mizuki and demand an explanation regarding her little luncheon with Akasugi.

There. It's resolved. Simple.

Alright, there are a few unknowns in that plan. But, I'll figure those out when they become pertinent. 

The late-spring weather has taken a turn for the gloomy. Dark clouds have gathered on the distant horizon, but it has not yet begun to rain. The world, cast in the grayish-blue of false twilight, appears preternaturally chilly. 

I showered before I left. And maybe I did put on the silk shirt Shuichi bought me for some ridiculous occasion. He makes a holiday out of anything, really. What a moron. Well, I didn't wear it for him. It just happened to be the first shirt I grabbed, that's all.

It isn't long before I'm driving through the same neighborhood I visited yesterday. "Yesterday? It seems so long ago." People are always saying that sort of stupid thing in songs, but I guess sometimes even clichés are right on the money. That's why we have so many of them.

It seems even darker here, and something about the smell of this place makes me uneasy. I keep catching just a faint whiff of something familiar.

It isn't until I turn onto the street where Okita lives that I see it. Huge plumes of brown-grey smoke blasting into the air. Tendrils and arcs of flame consuming the windows and wood of the second story. The street is littered with onlookers, most standing motionless with their arms crossed or their hands over their mouths in shock. There's a fire-truck, and several firemen running about, shouting orders and uncoiling hose.

Fuck. Fuck! That's Okita's house. It's on fire! Shuichi's in there!

I leave my car in the middle of the street, door open, keys still in the ignition. Someone could steal it, but I don't give a shit. In times like these, it's hard to give a flying fuck about anything. Not my car, not my expensive shoes. I don't even think about the fact that Uriel probably started this fire. I just...

I. Just. Want. To. Find. Shuichi.

"Shuichi!" I'm yelling and running. People's faces blur, and I think I almost knock over a few different bystanders. "Shuichi!" 

"Sir, you can't go..." Some asshole firefighter is pushing me backwards. "...near the fire. It's dangerous."

"Fuck off!" I try to punch this moron, but I'm immediately restrained by several more firefighters. "Get the fuck off of me! Shuichi is in there!"

And that's when I see that deviant, boyfriend-stealing asswipe, Okita. He saunters over to us, looking rather morosely upset. Having your house burn down can do that to a man. "You're Yuki-san, right?"

God, I hate his voice.

And since my upper torso is being restrained by firefighters, the only thing I can think to do...

Is kick Okita. In the jaw.

The asswipe flies backwards and ends up sprawled on his neighbor's lawn. He better be glad that I'm restrained. If I had my arms free, I'd be carving off his face with a machete, right about now. That punk! I'm blaming this...

"Yuki?"

I become absolutely still. I think my heart just began the process of imploding. It takes forever until he comes into view. Oh god. He looks awful. His face is covered with dirt, soot, and fresh scrapes. Half of his shirt appears to be missing. Burned off or torn off, I don't know. And his hair is...completely unrecognizable. I think some of it is missing on the left side.

"Yuki!" He barrels into me, like a coiled spring let loose. At some point, the firefighters unhand me, apparently sensing that I am no longer a danger to myself or others. (If only they knew.) I wrap my arms around Shuichi, and it...

It feels so good. Just utterly...good. 

He keeps whining my name, over and over, sobbing it into my shirt. I can't do anything but pull him closer. I want to melt him into me, so that we can't ever be separated. I'm sure that I must be crushing him, must be making a spectacle of the two of us, but I don't care. 

He's shaking, I can feel it. And maybe I'm shaking a little, too. He smells like our kitchen after he's tried to cook breakfast, but more acrid. Shuichi starts babbling random words, most of which I can't make out because he's taking into my skin. "Scared...fire...accident...you...last night...Yuki...scared..."

And I start saying things, things I didn't even know I knew how to say. I tell him that it's okay, that it's going to be alright, that he doesn't have to be scared anymore. I tell him all this goofy crap people say in the movies, and in novels, stuff I thought no one in the world actually said to one another. But, I guess we do. In the end, we all say the exact same crap to each other, because even though it isn't eloquent, it certainly is true.

It takes a little while for us to both become sensible, again. Shuichi calms down a bit, and just hiccoughs his sobs. He rubs his cheek against my shirt, leaving smudge marks of ash all over me. I reach into the back pocket of his pants and retrieve his hair tie, and then try to sort out his hair with my fingers. I finally manage to get it into a little puff of a ponytail at the back of his head. "Shuichi," I try to tilt his face back, so I can get a better look, "Are you hurt?"

"Scrapes...just scrapes..." His teeth chatter a little when he talks, and he's leaning his entire weight against me. Fucker weighs more than you'd think, so I decide to sit us both down on the curb. Unfortunately, we almost sit the head of an unconscious Okita. "Yuki, why'd you kick Okita-kun?"

I just grind my teeth a little. I don't really want to ruin the moment by remembering that Shuichi is sleeping around on me.

"Come to think of it, how'd you know I was here, Yuki?"

Well, fuck. That is hard to explain. I look around and point at a news van. Hopefully, Shuichi won't think too hard about it, and will just accept the explanation as is. 

Shuichi appears to not really care about getting answers. Instead, he just clings to me, and we both gaze at Okita's burning house. It's a strange thing to watch a building burn, get eaten from the inside out by little mouths of flame. Uriel used to say that you didn't really know how sturdy buildings are, until you watch them burn down. He loved fires. That damn pyromaniac. I'm going to kill him.

"It's all my fault," Shuichi mumbles suddenly, "All my fault... And now the painting is ruined, too. I tried to go back in to get it, but I couldn't reach it. Okita-kun had just finished it, too."

"Painting?" What the fuck is he talking about?

"Yeah. Okita-kun is an artist. I've been coming here to get a picture painted of myself. I wanted to give it to you for your office, so... So I could be with you while you write. Then even if you lock me out, I'm still in there with you."

A painter? The fuck? He's lying to me, right? I glare at Shuichi, warning him not to try this shit. I'm fucking tired of being lied to all the time. Shuichi just blinks at me, and then puts on his 'completely confused' face. "Yuki? What's wrong?"

He's not lying to me.

Shuichi has never lied to me.

"Shuichi, was it a nude painting?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"

That's why he was just wearing a damn towel. Not because they'd just finished fucking, but because Shuichi had been modeling. Yesterday, Shuichi wasn't smiling because he loves Okita, he was smiling because he loves me, because he was excited about giving me some stupid painting. 

They were talking about painting, and about Okita's tight -schedule-. Not about sex.

Goddamnit. I'm the idiot. Fuck. Fuck! 

"Do you have a headache, Yuki? You look like you have a headache." Shuichi sticks his bottom lip out, like he always does when he's concentrating a little too hard, and reaches up to touch my forehead. "Lemme rub it."

I pretend to bat his hand away, but he just tries again, so I let him. I do have a headache. Shuichi crawls into my lap, puts his fingers on my temple, and starts to move them in little circles. I seriously don't know where he picks up this shit, but it's quite soothing. 

Still, something isn't right. How can Okita be a painter?

"Does Okita work for NG, Shuichi?"

"Ummmmmm, no. When he's not painting, he's a file clerk at a museum. Doesn't that sound like the boringest job ever? Just the word 'clerk' sounds like it should be a curse word, huh? How do they decide which words are curse words, anyway?"

I sneer slightly, and grumble, "Stop babbling."

"Okay."

Okita is a file clerk. And he doesn't work for NG. But, didn't someone tell me that he was a roadie for Bad Luck...?

That's when it hits me like a fucking ACME anvil falling on my head. All this time, I thought Uriel was out to ruin my life, to hurt Shuichi, and via Shuichi, me. But, that wasn't what Uriel ever wanted. I was just too wrapped up in the drama of my own life to realize his true motivations.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the picture I stole from Tohma's office. Very carefully, I unfold it, and hold it so Shuichi can see it, too.

"Hey, cool picture." Shuichi bends in close to look at it. "Who's this guy giving the toast? He looks familiar."

Sakano.

Sakano was the one who told me that Okita works for NG.

I put my finger over Uriel's face in the picture. Damn.

"Who told you to get a picture painted, Shuichi?"

"No one told me to do it, I just wanted to..." Shuichi smiles wide. "But, I guess Sakano-san suggested it."

I take Shuichi's wrists in my hands and squeeze them in the hopes that I will get his attention. "Did anyone ever pull a knife on you in the parking garage at NG?"

"Huh? What?"

"Did you meet any strange people in the parking garage at NG during the last few weeks?"

Shuichi looks up, as if he's trying to access backlogged data in his brain by literally -looking- for it. "Hiro and I don't use the garage. He keeps his motorcycle in the back alley under a tarp. Something about how he's worried Aizawa is going to vandalize it or something, I don't know. What's all this about, Yuki?"

Sakano couldn't have seen Shuichi in the garage, then.

And isn't Shuichi always saying that Sakano gets all flustered around Seguchi? Like he has a crush on him... Like he...

The best place to hide is in plain sight.

I know it, and Sakano knows it, too.

Because he's the best agent we ever lost. 

Because Sakano is Uriel.

And he doesn't want me dead. He doesn't want to kidnap or hurt Shuichi. He just wants me confused. He wants me to be distracted long enough that he can go after the target he's been quietly stalking for years now.

Sakano, Uriel, is after Tohma.

As I realize this, the picture falls from my fingers onto Shuichi's knee. I take a deep breath as my entire body fills with annoyance. I really hate the fact that I didn't figure this out sooner, and I really hate...

The world becomes immediately ten times brighter than it should be. I'm slammed backwards, and my entire left side becomes incredibly hot. I don't know where up is, or where down is. I crush Shuichi to my chest, and both of us seem to be tumbling together. I taste grass and dirt. There's so much noise from our movement that I only barely register the sound of the blast.

When we finally stop moving, I tentatively open one eye. A huge plume of flames is shooting out of one half of Okita's house, and the other half no longer exists.

"Ohhhhh crap," Shuichi groans, "There goes my plastique."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In Our Next Chapter: Shuichi's plastique? Yuki learns more about Shuichi's pyromaniac tendencies as the two race to save Tohma from Sakano's nefarious plans. 

Author's Notes:

Congrats to those who pegged Sakano as Uriel, and those who figured out that Okita was a painter. Even more secrets and secret identities will be revealed in the next chapter of Brilliant Eidolon.

Super-duper thanks to all reviewers, including: gail, starlight, Aja, ht, LilyAvalon, Dana, PIKACHU GODDESS, Sesshomaru-bishounen, Satanic-Purple-Onion, Aacire, Catherine-Lewie-Rain, anon, Brittanga, Kracker Lace, animegirl12182, KuroiShinigami07 (Hope that was quick enough for you), Gyoki, Ashcat, Firebreeze (Island!), and firedraygon. 


	7. Cling Like Smoke

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Seven: Cling Like Smoke

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Tangerine is the kind of heroine that girls like to imagine they would be, if circumstances were different. Independent and strong-willed, but able to love, no matter how unlucky she may be at it. She's quirky, in control of her sexuality, but slightly psychologically broken due to her harsh past. 

Tangerine doesn't always win big, but she always comes out even. She dines with royalty, but prefers the company of misfits. She refuses gifts of elegant jewelry from greasy suitors, but never turns down a free pint of ale offered by her working-class acquaintances. Tangerine drives fast, speaks recklessly, and fucks fearlessly. Tangerine loves dogs, frozen drinks, the Italian countryside, novelty keychains, and her Sig Sauer P226.

Tangerine is an assassin. 

And by the end of the story, she always has to kill her traitorous lover.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"What do you mean it was your plastique, Shuichi?"

Shuichi is squirming. I think the seat belt is hitting him where he was singed. Either that, or he just doesn't like the tone of my voice. He gives up on getting comfortable and flips down the visor.

"My poor hair. Look at it... It's all burned and uneven..." He pokes and pulls at the ends, pouting and pretending that he didn't hear a word I said.

"Would you just answer my question?"

Shuichi flips the visor up. "I mean it's my plastique."

"That doesn't answer anything. Why do you own explosives? You realize that plastique...blows things up, right? It's not like Play-Doh."

"Play-wha?" Shuichi gives me a don't-make-references-I-don't-get look, and continues, "Well, duh. Of course it's for blowing things up. But, I didn't mean to blow up Okita's house. That was completely by accident."

"Shuichi!" I'm so surprised by what Shuichi is saying, I accidentally swerve half out of my lane. A nearby car honks at us, and there's a faint squeak of tires on pavement. My arm flies out to hold Shuichi in place.

He just gives me a -look-. "Watch where you are driving, okay? Maybe this isn't a safe conversation to have in a car."

"You blew up a house!"

"I'll buy him a new one. I'm rich now, remember?" 

It's true. Shuichi has a fuckload of money. I make him keep it in a bank, instead of in the damn closet, like he was for a while there. A man should not keep large wads of cash in the same old crate as his underpants. "That isn't the point..."

A hand creeps into the crook of my arm, warm and smudged with ash. I ignore it, and keep driving. If only there were time to pull aside and get a proper explanation. But, there isn't. Seguchi's life is on the line, and despite the fact that I sometimes loathe how much he knows about me... Well, I can't let someone make Mika a widow prematurely. With all that extra time on her hands to dote on her brothers, she'd be even more obnoxious than she is -now-.

Besides. It's Uriel. Fuck if I'm going to let Uriel have anything he wants.

"I know all about it," Shuichi says. I blink, and turn to look at him, but he just points at the road. Right. Driving. "About Exile. About your work...taking really bad people out of the world, people who prey on the weak. On people who can't defend themselves."

Is that...what I do? "How did... Who told you?"

"Sakano told me about three months ago. I didn't believe him, at first. But then I started looking in the places he mentioned... And I found knives and wire and..."

Three months ago. Around the time I started suspecting Shuichi was doing drugs. When he was all mopey. When I found that piece of paper in his notebook. The one where he wrote that he loved me.

"But, after a lot of thinking, I began to understand. I mean, there are a lot of really awful people out there, doing hideous things. But, maybe if there is someone in the darkness, someone essentially good, but who scares those predators, scares them shitless... If there is someone like that, someone like you, then they'll think twice about hurting people."

Is it...really possible for Shuichi to think that way? Is he truly that fundamentally innocent and naive? What I do is -murder-, and while we gloss it with a veneer of justice, the fact remains that I am a murderer. A killer. "You can't just say something like that. It's ridiculous. You completely lack the ability to comprehend what is going on here."

"Yuki." The grip on my arm tightens as Shuichi slides over to lean against me. "I love you. I have crazy love for you. Backwards-and-inside-out love for you. To-the-grave love for you." He rubs his cheek against my shirt, leaving ash smudges all over it. "Because I know you're a good person. I know all the things you do for me that you think I don't notice. Like how you throw a blanket over me when I fall asleep on the couch. Or how you always pick up on the second ring, when I call you at home, even though it's your policy to wait for the phone to ring at least five times for anyone else. I know how you keep a scrap of paper in a book, in the bottom drawer of your desk... Because you're so afraid of losing me. I mean it when I say I love you, love the good in you, and nothing is going to change that."

"You're a fucking moron." I love you too, Shuichi. "A crazy moron. A backwards-and-inside-out -moron-. And you'll go to the grave a moron"  
Good god, I want to pull this car over and fuck some sense into you.

"Hey!" Shuichi pinches me. Hard. "Can't you ever say anything nice?"

I shrug. I suppose I should say something. The fact is, what he said now, it's like a dream. Like imagining winning the lottery. A fantasy that you only barely entertain, in secret stolen moments, because you don't want to become too attached to it for fear of disappointment. Can I believe? Is it alright to believe... That I can have this? "I... Well, you're kind of cute, looking all soot-covered and urchin-like."

Shuichi sighs happily and nods. "I know. I am just plain sexy. You can't unsexy me with a little dirt."

Wait a minute. This conversation has been completely hijacked. That little bastard. I nudge him with my elbow, and growl, "Shuichi. The plastique. Tell me about the explosives."

"Oh, right." What the hell is he doing? Licking my shirt? Or blowing his nose on it? It feels gooey. That's extremely distracting. I am -trying- to drive, here. "Sakano said that you were in trouble, in danger, because you lost your partner. Uriel, right? Yeah, that's it. Uriel. Anyway, Sakano told me all about how Uriel was an explosives expert, and how he was good with fire and everything, and offered to train me -- so that I could take Uriel's place. So I could help you."

"What? And you trusted him?" Of course Shuichi trusted him. A story like that, and the opportunity to help me do something "important", Shuichi would eat that right up. 

Shuichi looks up at me, the worry on his face barely masked by his overwhelming confusion. "Well, yeah. Of course. Sakano is Seguchi-san's right-hand-man in Exile, isn't he? 

It takes a while for me to explain that Sakano is Uriel, both because Shuichi is sometimes a bit combative about his own denseness, and because I'm not exactly fond of revealing that I didn't realize the truth -earlier-. When I finish telling Shuichi about Uriel and my suspicions regarding his secret obsession with Tohma, Shuichi has his face in his hands, and is mumbling an apology between repeated utterances of, "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

Not like it is his fault. Alright, maybe it is his fault, just a little, for being such a completely trusting and naive ignoramus. I shake my head. "Well, at least you probably didn't set off that fire at Okita's yourself. Sakano probably rigged something. I assume you got most of the plastique and other implements from him?"

"Ye...yeah." Shuichi looks at me, his eyes wide in a mildly horrified expression. "I was supposed to burn down another warehouse tomorrow. Sakano said it would be the end of my training, and then we could show you what I'd learned, and how helpful I could be to you."

"I see." Uriel is definitely making his move -now-. He assumed that with Shuichi injured or dead, I'd be too distracted to notice Tohma's disappearance. 

I come to a stop at an intersection, and press a button. Shuichi's door unlocks with a "shunk" noise. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm letting you out here," I say, rather flatly, as I dig out my wallet. I consider handing Shuichi a sizeable amount of cash, and then decide to just give him my credit card, instead. "Take a taxi. But, don't go home. Find a hotel. Call me later, and let me know where to meet you."

"Huh? What? No way! I'm coming with you!" As if he thinks it will be helpful to keep himself inside the car, Shuichi grabs hold of the seat with one hand, and the dashboard with the other. "I can help you, Yuki. I really can."

"Out of my car."

"No way!"

I give him a mild shove, nothing that'd hurt him, just to show him I'm serious. Shuichi twists in his seatbelt, and his shoulder bumps the window. The car behind us honks. Repeatedly. 

I make a mistake by looking in the rearview window. I shouldn't have taken my eyes off of Shuichi, because the damned rubberband boy somehow gets his leg up high enough to kick me in the ear. The car lurches forward when I momentarily take my foot off the brake, but despite my pain, I stop us again.

"Fucking hell! That fucking hurt!" I rub my ear. It wasn't the impact of the kick that hurt so much as the rubbery treads on the sole of Shuichi's sneakers grinding against my skin. 

Shuichi turns a bit pale as he starts to right himself in his seat. "Yuki, I'm sorry. I just..." He leans over, slowly, to peer at my ear. I guess he's looking for blood. "I'm tired of it. Tired of waiting... No, that's not it. I'd wait forever for you. But, it hurts so much to not know where you are... Now that I know what you do. I imagine horrible things. All the ways you could be hurt, all the ways..." And that's when the stupid idiot starts crying.

"Stop it," I bark. "Stop crying." Despite what I'm saying, I slide my arm around Shuichi's shoulders, and rub his upper arm.

The driver of the car behind us lays on his horn.

Shuichi sniffles noisily. "I can do...something. Let me be the getaway driver."

"This isn't a bank heist, moron." He -really- watches -way- too much television. "And I'd never let you drive my car, anyway."

"The lookout. I can be a lookout. For the cops."

There better -not- be any fucking cops. I glance at the rearview window again. The driver's side door of the car behind mine flies open, and a rather red-faced man in a suit climbs out.

"Yuki, please." Shuichi wiggles out of my grasp to sit up straight. He wipes at his eyes, and then gives me a piercing look. "Please let me help."

Shuichi jumps when the man in the suit appears at my window and bangs his fist against it while yelling, "Would you faggots DRIVE?"

I grab the handle of my door and push it open as hard as I can, catching the yelling asswipe in the gut, and perhaps also his balls. After screaming like a girl, he crumples, and I slam the door shut. 

Shuichi stares at me, wide-eyed.

"Alright. You can come with me. But you will do -everything- I say. This is -not- negotiable. Got it?"

He nods. I check for oncoming traffic, and seeing none, hit the gas. Shuichi twists in his seat and peers out the back window. "Wow. That guy is just lying in the middle of the road."

"He'll live." I need a cigarette. I rummage around in my pocket and pull out my pack. The cigarette between my lips, I mumble, "You got a...?"

Shuichi produces a lighter and leans over to touch the flame to the end of my cigarette. "So, what now?"

"Now I need to make a phone call."

"And then?"

"Then we rescue Tohma."

After Shuichi nods again, I notice him rummaging around in -his- shirt. He pulls out a very wadded up pack of cigarettes, and starts trying to fish one out. Without even thinking, my hand darts out and I snatch it away from him. I toss it in the back seat.

"Hey!"

"You'll ruin your voice, dumbass. Why'd you start smoking, anyway? You hate the fact that I smoke." 

Shuichi grins rather lopsidedly, and scoots over to lean against me again. "I guess..." I hear him laugh into my sleeve. "I just like it when the smell of smoke clings to me."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Gabriel and Raphael meet us in NG's parking garage. Gabriel's trenchcoat bulges from the massive amount of guns he's brought along, and Raphael's skin is barely visible beneath his black shinobi regalia. Not that it's at all difficult to tell who he is with the damned stuffed toy sitting on his head. For his part, Shuichi is at least quiet while the three of us plan. 

Gabriel and Raphael will go in first, and take out any Lampyridae agents watching the security cameras or the elevators. Then, I'll go in and deal with Uriel while they search NG for any enemy stragglers. 

Shuichi pokes me in the shoulder. "What about me?"

"You'll follow me, and then hide when I tell you. If anyone gets in trouble, they'll use their cellphone to call you, and you can drag them out of there. Got it?"

Shuichi looks mildly disappointed, but nods anyway. 

"Good. Any questions?"

The stupid shinobi eyes me warily, but thankfully doesn't make a snide comment in front of Shuichi. K shakes his head, grabs a gun out of his arsenal, and the two of them head for the stairs.

After they're gone, Shuichi slumps against me and mumbles, "Wow. It's hard to believe that they're... You know. Working for Exile, too. I mean, not Mr. K so much as..."

Yeah, it's hard to believe. I put an arm around Shuichi as we lean against the car, and check my watch. Three minutes, then we're going in. There's so much I want to tell Shuichi about the past few days, but it's likely I never will. There's no time to think about that, anyway. I need to thinking about tactics. I need to be building up walls, mentally preparing to finish this ordeal. But, all I can think about is how good it feels to have Shuichi back. The human mind, terrible and inconstant, can never be escaped. It wants what it wants, not matter how many walls you build.

"Shuichi, I..."

Want to tell you something. Something about my life having meaning, about how even strongest walls can be felled with patience and perseverance. I want to say something important about sin and sacrifice and redemption and absolution. And if only I could tell you...

Click.

"Get down!" I force Shuichi to the ground probably a little harder than necessary, and crouch beside him. Dazedly, Shuichi tries to get back up, but I keep a steadying hand on his shoulder to prevent him. "Shh."

"But, what...?"

Slowly, sharp footsteps echo in the parking garage. Whomever it is, they're coming towards us. "Uesugi Eiri, come out. We need to talk."

That voice is so...familiar. Laced with an accent... I bend down to peer underneath the car at the man's feet. Shiny black shoes. Why do all government agents wear the exact same shoes? Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.

"Come out. I'm not going to hurt you. Or Shindou-san, either." A hand comes into view and places a gun on the ground. I'm about to shove Shuichi out of the way, but the gun is kicked, and comes spinning at me. I grab it, and narrow my eyes. I know that voice.

Rule number ten for writers and assassins: No one is ever what they seem.  
Ever.

"Stay low," I murmur to Shuichi, and then stand. Exactly as I suspected, the person standing in the parking garage, his hands in the air, is none other than the proprietor of the local newsstand. Tungesh takes a single step forward, but halts when I lift the gun and level it at him. 

I hate guns. I -really- hate guns. Nothing good ever comes of using them. First I shoot sensei, then Gabriel, and now... 

"Hn. So you're a government agent." No wonder he knew that they were looking for me. But, why would he tell me that? It doesn't make any goddamn sense. 

Shuichi pulls himself up a little, and peers over the trunk of the car at Tungesh. "Hey, I know that guy. What's he doing here?"

"Good question."

Tungesh lowers his hands, and I shake the gun a bit, to let him know that's not acceptable. In a show of good faith, he raises them again. "I tried to warn you. I was hoping you'd take Shindou-san and run." Tungesh shakes his head. "I was assigned to watch you, to gain your confidence, but you're not my target."

I get it. "Lampyridae. Uriel. You were spying on me because I'm his ex-partner."

Tungesh nods. "It's unfortunate that he showed up here. The government doesn't officially condone Exile, or any vigilante organization. But, sometimes..."

Sometimes there are people beyond the government's reach. People who need to be stopped, to be brought to justice by any means possible. 

"You've got to get out of here," Tungesh says, lowering his hands again. This time, I let him. "In less than twenty minutes, this place is going to be swarming with agents. They're here for Lampyridae, but they're not going to be able to turn a blind eye to any evidence of Exile's existence."

...The record rooms.

Deep in the bowels of NG, there are files. Detailed files. Every mission Exile has ever undertaken. The name of every agent. Pictures of every person I've ever killed. If those are found, I'll be a wanted man, and not just by the cops. Every criminal organization in the world will want my head. I'll be a dead man.

Tungesh nods at what must be my obvious look of realization. "So you see, you've got to get out of here. You and Shindou-san both."

"No." That's the last thing we need to do.

"Yeah." Shuichi finally stands up all the way. "We've got to rescue Seguchi-san. I mean, sure, he's a real bastard, and I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy, but he gave Bad Luck a chance when no one else would. And..." Shuichi glances at me, "And I know he takes care of Yuki, in his own really, really, -really- weird way."

Tungesh shakes his head. "You're both going to..." Yeah, get killed. I know. I know. "You've got twenty minutes. That's all I can promise."

I incline my head in a nod of thanks. Nonetheless, I'm keeping Tungesh's gun. Or, rather...

Shuichi tugs on my sleeve. "We should go, Yuki."

I look at Shuichi. He's still so smudged and dirty from the fire at Okita's house. I'm sure I don't look much better. He's such a small person, and he looks so fragile. But, he's so much stronger than me. There's never been anything that he couldn't do, if he put his mind to it. Singing. Breaking down my walls. Learning how to...set fires and blow things up.

I finally realize...

He's never needed my protection nearly as much as I've needed his.

I pull the gun out and press it into Shuichi's hand. 

"Whoa. It's heavy." Shuichi blinks at the gun, and then peers at me. "Yuki?"

"You can help me, Shuichi."

I've apparently stunned him, because he opens his mouth several times to say something, and nothing comes out. For a moment, I think he's having second thoughts, but he finally says, "Anything. I'll do anything for you, Yuki."

"Good." I glance at Tungesh to make sure he's still listening. "Because I need you to blow up NG."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In Our Next Chapter: The final showdown between Eiri and Sakano. Will Tohma be saved? Will NG be destroyed? Will the Exile agents prevail? Will Ryuichi take this chance to get revenge on Eiri? And what of Eiri's rival in the author business, Akasugi Naoko, suspiciously missing from this whole ordeal? Read and find out next time! I hope you will!

Author's Notes: Sort of a boring chapter, since it's mostly just exposition of what's been happening over the last six. I really hate writing chapters like this one, which is why it took so long to get it out. I originally meant for this to be the last chapter, but then decided to break it up into two, and put something out instead of wait. I hope you'll keep reading, nonetheless. The next chapter should contain far more interesting bits.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers who continue to give this story a chance, despite it being somewhat of an AU. I really appreciate it! 


	8. The Final Conflagration

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Eight: The Final Conflagration

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Such an interesting paradox. NG, the temple of music, the cathedral of song -- worshipping beauty and youth and life. NG, the shrine of vigilante justice, the altar of righteousness -- worshipping blood and pain and death. All those pop stars in all those photographs, with their sexy smiles and their sexier pouts, are far more frightening to me than a gun pointed at my head. No one can destroy like charming, sweet-voiced, devils disguised as saints. 

At least, that's what I'm counting on. 

Right now, if all is going as I planned, Shuichi is making his way to the interior record-room of NG, and setting up for a blaze that'll make all the heads in Tokyo spin. Right now, Sakuma and K are searching NG for any employees that might need to be ushered out of the building, and dispatching hidden Lampyridae agents as they go. Right now, I'm crawling through the air ducts, heading for Seguchi's office.

I'd have taken the elevator, but I'd prefer the element of surprise, just in case.

It's absolutely cramped in here. I feel like an ungreased dildo being shoved up someone's nose. My shirt keeps getting caught on sharp corners. My face is sweating, but cold air is blowing on my ass. This has the most unpleasant form of travel, ever. I always see this in movies, but I doubt anyone ever really goes through air ducts to get somewhere. Not unless they are completely, absolutely, unequivocally, batshit insane.

"Nooo, Kumagoro. You lost it... I can't reach..."

Don't tell me.

I pull myself forward several more feet, and look down a perpendicular metal shaft. 

Well, fuck me with raw oysters and call me an appetizer.

Sakuma is squirming around in the other shaft. He has his arm down a hole, and it looks like he's trying to shove his shoulder in there, as well. Part of his ninja face-covering has fallen off from the struggle, and the stupid plush toy has been discarded off to the side of the vent.

This is not a person I want to deal with, at the moment. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Sakuma's head shoots up and bangs against the metal corridor so hard that I can feel the vibrations. A loud "thunkakunkakunk" echoes through the air shaft.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuughhh. Ow ow OW!"

"Louder, idiot. I don't think they heard you in Hokkaido." 

Sakuma frowns and rubs his head until his hair looks like it's been styled by Cyclones-R-Us. He hisses for a few more seconds, and then gets a rather accusatory look on his face. "Your fault."

"What are you doing in here?" Goddamnit, I hate having to repeat myself.

Sakuma narrows his eyes so slightly that if I didn't know him, I would have completely missed it. "A ninja must sneak, duh. Sneaky-sneaky-ninja." He then thrusts his arm back into the hole. "But, while we were crawling, Kumagoro dropped my phone. I can't quite..." Sakuma makes a grunt that I'm sure would cause Tatsuha to excuse himself to find the nearest restroom. "...reach it."

"Yeah, yeah. Give me your flashlight and scoot back." 

Sakuma hesitates, but then holds it out for me to take and wiggles backwards. I squirm forward and peer into the hole.

"Why are you here, Michael?"

"Shut up." I definitely don't want to admit that I'm here for the same reason he is -- the element of surprise. "This happened because you're always carrying too much useless crap. That damned toy rabbit, candy, whatever the hell else you've got tucked away. Of course something is going to fall out."

"I..." Sakuma's voice becomes low and quiet. There's an eerie pause before he continues speaking. "I just don't want to... Die alone... Far from familiar things."

I don't have any response to that. Well, none besides cringing mildly. Maybe it is possible that there's someone decent and reasonable inside that stupid shinobi getup. After all, who would want to die far from the things that make them feel human? Who would want to be parted from their fantasies during those final moments, and die as a murderous monster, rather than as a simple but flawed man?

I pretend like I didn't hear what he said. 

And, in the next moment, I pull out the cellphone. My arms are slightly longer than his, I suppose. I stare at the phone for a moment (a garish pink monstrosity with little white cartoon rabbits all over it). It looks like it was made in the late-1990s, from the size of the thing. How ridiculous. "You should get a smaller one."

"That one is special to Kumagoro!"

I shrug and hand his phone over, then start squirming away. It's not like I'm going to stick around to chat with that nutjob. That's K's job. Anyway, Sakuma can take care of himself, as well I know. I've got more important things to think about than some long-dead grudge held by a man whose shuriken-throwing skills are outstripped only by his ice-cream eating skills.

"Good luck, Michael." The voice comes from right behind me, but when I look over my shoulder, Sakuma is nowhere to be found.

Stupid ninjas and their voice-throwing tricks.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I end up in Seguchi's fastidiously clean private restroom. Hm. Last time I was here, I was getting my hand bandaged. It still stings a little, actually. But, right now, it is number fifty-two on my list of worries and annoyances.

Number fifty-one is whether or not Shuichi is eating enough vegetables these days.

Number fifty-three is the nagging feeling that I recently missed a doctor's appointment. Fuck prostate exams. Fuck them directly in the ass.

Now, how to approach this. If I am correct, Uriel should be in the next room with Tohma. I could be wrong. I could open this door to find Uriel has already escaped, and Tohma is lying in a pool of his own blood. 

Carefully, I put my ear to the door, and listen. Nothing. Just...nothing. The seconds tick away as I inch my hand toward the doorknob. Oh. Nice doorknob. Is that pewter?

A voice comes from the other side of the door. "Stop for a piss in there, Michael?"

Fuck. He doesn't miss anything. Well, there goes the element of surprise. I pat down my jacket, just to make sure I have knives hidden in all the correct places, and then grab the doorknob.

"Slowly, now. Any sudden movements, and someone could get very, very hurt. Perhaps even killed." I can hear it now, the change in his voice, the way he sounds like himself...but different. The sound is tighter, sharper than his voice used to be. 

And when I open the door, I can see what he's done to his face. Why didn't I see it before? Those dark circles under his eyes are gone, and his cheeks are fuller, brighter, more defined. He's had the shape of his lips and his nose altered, but there's still something sinister about his eyes. Those doe-like brown eyes are still far too innocent for a man who murders almost indiscriminately.

For some reason, people naturally trust those lying eyes.

Sakano, as he calls himself now, motions at me with a gun. "Go sit on the couch with Seguchi. But, not too close." 

Tohma, for his part, looks well enough. Though, if the bruise forming on his left jaw is any indication, there's been a struggle. My brother-in-law gives me a look, one I can easily interpret as, "You really shouldn't have come here, but it's nice to know you care."

As I sit, I note the strange smell in the room. Acrid. Pungent. Chemical. And I don't think it's from one of Seguchi's notorious cleaning-sprees. Uriel must have rigged something already. I guess he thinks blowing up NG is a good idea, too.

Just to make him nervous, I take out my pack of cigarettes. Seguchi frowns, and gives me a pointed look. Sakano, on the other hand, just chuckles. 

"You did a fairly good job infiltrating NG. Unfortunately, one of your compatriots was spotted on a video camera... It's rather laughable how careless you've become without me to keep you in line, Yuki Eiri."

He says my name with such caustic venom that I can almost feel it eating away at my identity. I narrow my eyes, only slightly, and slide a cigarette between my lips. There's something wrong with him, something corrupt and mangled at the core of his being. I can hear it in the serrated edge of his voice, see it on the cruel smirk of his lips. I can smell it. The horrible odor that always preceded so many deaths...

I take out a lighter.

"Eiri-san, don't..." Seguchi whispers.

"You really should listen to him, Eiri." Pleased with himself, Sakano leans back against Tohma's desk. "Seguchi is in a highly flammable state, at the moment. You shouldn't want a crispy brother-in-law. Though, I suppose you wouldn't have to pay for cremation."

I palm the lighter, and pretend to stick it in my pocket. I see. He's doused Tohma with something. Well, that explains the smell, though I wonder what Sakano has on his mind. Is it for my benefit, or did he plan to jerk off while watching Seguchi burn? Knowing that pyromaniac, I doubt the latter idea is too far from the truth. "You're a sick bastard," I say.

"You're an expert in the field of sick bastards, so I suppose it must be true." He chuckles again, pulls off those ridiculous fake glasses he's been wearing, and tosses them aside. "But, it's true. Seguchi here doesn't seem to want to recognize all I have done for him, for Exile, for our ideals of justice and world-purification. He chooses everyone over me. His fuck-up brother-in-law. NG. His ugly wife."

Mika isn't that ugly. Well, unless you catch her before she puts her makeup on in the morning. Then it's a horror show that'll give you nightmares.

"But, he'll have to recognize my skills as I kill him. Isn't that right, Seguchi? In the end, I suppose I'm old-fashioned. I adhere to that eternal adage: If I can't have what I want, nobody can."

I glance at Tohma again. He seems to be holding up fairly well. He's sweating more than I've ever seen Tohma sweat, but his posture is relaxed. "I should have had you killed when I had the chance," Tohma mutters under his breath. "You've really been such a disruption to my business."

Business? Is that what he's thinking about, at this moment?

I wonder, briefly, what the hell Tohma is going to do to me after Shuichi's explosives render NG to rubble. The words "inhuman", "torture", and "lard" come to mind. You can do some seriously fucked up things to a person with a tub of lard. Believe me. I work with experts.

Sakano either doesn't hear Tohma, or ignores him. "But, I'm a bit surprised, Michael. You weren't supposed to show up, so I haven't planned anything particularly poetic for you. I suppose I'll just have to play it by ear."

Sakano reaches onto the desk behind him and grabs something small and rubbery. It gets tossed at me, but being less than aerodynamic, lands a few inches in front of my left foot. After bending down to pick it up, I stare at what I now have in my hand. Curved. Pale. Bloody. Flesh.

It's an ear.

And if the tiny blood-smeared diamond earring still piercing the lobe is any indication...

It's Shuichi's ear.

Calm, now. Calm. Give him nothing. Reveal nothing. Do not look surprised. Do not look worried. A man can survive for quite a while without an ear. I grab some tissue from the nearby end-table and start wrapping up the severed flesh. Shuichi is going to need that later. Do not flinch. Do not pale. Do not give Sakano the reaction he wants.

Do not betray a single weakness.

At this point in the story, Tangerine would tuck the tissue-wrapped ear into her cleavage, and calmly ask if the antagonist had any liquor. She'd slam the drink in one gulp and then tell her traitorous lover, who is now holding a gun at her head, that it was fun while it lasted, or some other pithy comment. Then...

Then...

I can't believe I'm asking myself, "What would Tangerine do?"

"You always had a good poker face, Yuki Eiri. Unfortunately, I know all your tells. That little crease on the bridge of your nose. The shallow breathing. The way your lips tighten. It affects you, seeing that boy hurt. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always had a soft spot for whores with sob stories, mothers who've lost their children, and innocent-looking boys with tight asses."

Shuichi? Innocent looking? He -must- be joking. "And, you always did annoy me by talking more than necessary," I reply. But, I'm not really paying attention to his grand-standing. I've got three pressing problems. First, I need to get rid of Uriel. Then, I've got to get Seguchi out of here. And last...

Shuichi. I need to find Shuichi. 

"I tell you what, I'll make you a deal." Uriel runs his fingers through his dark bangs, despite the fact that they all just flop back into place.  
"I may be a traitor, but you know I don't lie. You do one little thing for me, and I'll let both Seguchi and little Shindou go free."

I'd best play along, for now. "Oh, what's that?"

Uriel, Sakano, whomever he is, switches the gun's aim to Seguchi. The leer on his lips deepens in perversity. "Fuck Seguchi." With the same hand that tossed me the ear, he turns a small boxlike device on Tohma's desk toward me. It's some sort of web camera. Seguchi keeps it around to make little videos of potentially signable bands. "Fuck Seguchi while Shindou watches. Ruin your own life by acting contrary to your water-thin ethics, by embracing the monster within yourself. Ruin Seguchi's precious monogamous marriage. Make him scream for you the way I wanted him to scream for me. But, most of all, ruin Shindou. Ruin him by showing him how little his love means to you."

"No." I can almost feel Tohma recoil. Sure, Tohma and I... But, it was never sexual, and even if it was... It wasn't Tohma that I was adoring. It was absolution...for my crimes, for sensei. Absolution and redemption. It was something I needed in order to calm myself. But, not... Not that. Not something cheap like that.

Sakano's voice becomes low, almost hypnotic, as he slinks across the office, smiling that cruel smile, the one that never matched his eyes. "Yes. Because that's what you're holding onto, isn't it? The hope... That hope..." Sakano stops in front of Tohma. "I had a hope like that once. I had something I wanted. I had a fantasy, a dream of being something besides a murderer." The gun gets pressed against Tohma's temple. My brother-in-law looks a bit pale, but at least he's not sweating. And the small smile on Tohma's face is a nice touch. "I bet you'd moan for Eiri, wouldn't you? I've seen the way you look at him. I know the secret little games you two play, sick games, needful games. I was always watching. Always. Do you know how difficult it is to jerk off while inside an air duct?"

Air duct?

AIR DUCT?

I was just in there!

That's just not right.

Uriel grinds the gun's muzzle into Tohma's forehead. "Every man has dark fantasies, whether he utters them or not. Even Seguchi Tohma. Why don't we share with Eiri some of the things you told me all those years ago?"

Tohma's smile grows all the more sublime as he watches Sakano. Slowly, and with great deliberation, Tohma raises his hand, and runs a single fingernail along the barrel of the gun, producing an eerie scraping noise. "How hard. How unyieldingly hard. Too bad for you that it's the last thing you'll press into my flesh." Tohma taps his fingernails on the gun barrel, and says, "Do it, Eiri-san."

I don't even think. I just trust that Seguchi knows what he's doing. Does it cross my mind, for a single moment, that he's trying to sacrifice himself for my sake? Yes. Nonetheless, I flick my hand out, lighting the previously-palmed lighter in one fluid motion, and send it flying towards Tohma.

Now, usually, if you throw a lit lighter, it'll go out immediately, especially if it is one of the cheap plastic kinds. However, this is a refillable metal lighter, the kind that doesn't go out until you flip the lid over the flame. If thrown correctly, the flame can last until the lighter reaches its target.

How do I know all this?

I used to be partnered with a pyromaniac.

Sakano's eyes widen as the lighter arcs through the air. He's far too close to Tohma. If Seguchi catches fire, Sakano will too. 

I'm not too surprised when Sakano chooses life over dying in a ball of flames with Seguchi. He spins, and blocks the lighter's path with the gun. With a "k-tinka-shrrrshrrrshrr", the lighter bounces off the gun barrel and goes whizzing across the tile floor, where it becomes lodged in (and sets fire to) the fringes of Seguchi's favorite Persian rug.

I take Sakano's moment of distraction to produce a knife and lunge forward. He shoots wildly, trying to stop me. Thankfully, however, Uriel was never any good with a gun. Gunpowder, maybe, but not firearms. I punch forward on my left leg, in the last moment before we collide, and increase my speed just enough to catch him, despite his attempt to dodge. 

My knife pierces Sakano in the side, directly beneath his ribs. It's a terrible place to stab a man, and I can't recall having done it many times in the past. Obscenely painful, and yet not immediately deadly. Mere millimeters of angle determine which organs you'll puncture. The next few minutes of my ex-partner's life will not be pretty, and unless he heads directly for a hospital, he will soon expire. 

I hear him grunt as I lean against him and twist the knife. The gun goes off again, and something behind me makes a loud crashing noise. I figure he probably hit some piece of expensive pottery decorating Seguchi's office. In a subsequent moment of quiet, Sakano hisses into my ear, "He'll be like me, that Shindou. Someday, he'll betray you. That's the day we'll meet again -- at the gates of hell."

"Hn. You wish."

I shove Sakano with one hand, and pull my knife out with the other. He goes stumbling backwards and trips over a rolling office chair. As he collapses on the floor, I turn back to Seguchi. We have absolutely no time to waste. We've got to get out of here -now-.

But, Seguchi is on the floor, rather than on the couch where I left him. He has his hand about a foot from his face, and he's staring at it with more horror than I've seen on his face since... Well, since I killed sensei. Tohma turns his hand around for me to see.

Blood.

Shit. I guess that last gunshot didn't hit a piece of pottery.

"My leg," Tohma murmurs. I notice it then, the sticky slick of blood on his trousers. The bullet got him in the thigh. Despite his pain, horror, and (I assume) fear, Tohma calmly takes a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wipes at his blood-smudged hand. "You should go."

Always the martyr, sacrificing himself for my well-being.

Not this time. 

I grab Tohma under his arm and hoist him up. This is going to be bad. I can't carry both Tohma and Shuichi. "Walk. Or else." Or else, what? I'll kill him? Not a very effective threat to someone who was ready to sit here and die. Nonetheless, it seems to work.

The heat in the room grows ever more terrible as Seguchi's desk catches fire, kindled by the burning rug. I notice Sakano leaving a wide swath of smeared blood on the floor as he tries to crawl away from the flames. But, there's no time to watch that bastard die. I all but drag Seguchi to the door.

"Have fun, old friend," I say to Sakano as we leave. "I know how much you like fires."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

We find Shuichi in the next room, duct-taped to Tohma's secretary's chair, and guarded by one of Lampyridae's lesser agents. The guard reaches for his gun, but never draws it. He's suddenly too preoccupied with the knife I lodged in his eye.

As for Shuichi, it seems as if his entire right side is caked in blood. The way he looks without his right ear -- well, even Seguchi utters some words of concern. I lean Tohma against the nearby desk and set about freeing Shuichi. 

Though he's pale from the blood loss, and his eyes are closed, Shuichi flinches when I touch him, proving he's still conscious. I hold his arm down to keep him from mistakenly swinging at me. "It's me. It's just me."

"Yuki..." Shuichi's eyes fly open, and he stares up at me with an amount of awe and love I definitely don't deserve. "Yuki, I... I'm okay. Don't look at me like that. I'm going to be okay." He reaches up to touch my cheek. His fingers are...chilly. "Calm down. It's alright. It's okay."

"It's not. You..." Lost a fucking ear. How could I be so stupid as to let Shuichi go on his own? That's not right. That's just fucking lunacy. 

"Shot a guy, though." Strangely, Shuichi doesn't seem too torn up about that. "In the arm. I'm not too good with aiming..."

What was I thinking? What was I -thinking-? He could have been killed. I rip the rest of the duct tape off of Shuichi and help him to his feet. He's momentarily unsteady, but after getting his bearings is able to stand. I think he'll probably be able to walk better than Seguchi.

"But, I did set one of the charges before they caught me, and..."

As if on cue, the building rumbles and quakes. The overhead lights sway and flicker, and several dusty chunks of ceiling fall nearby. I hold onto Shuichi and Seguchi holds onto the desk. In that moment, I realize all is lost, and a strange calm overtakes me.

At least I am with Shuichi... 

At least I will not have to die far from something familiar. Shuichi will be with me, and I with him. I will die a loved man. I will die while loving someone -- an ability I didn't even know I possessed.

Later, much later, I'll realize what absolute drippy nonsense that sentiment is. And I'll include it in one of my novels.

The building does -not- collapse beneath us, nor are we soon encased in the billowing fire of an explosion. I give Shuichi a questioning look.

"Yeah, I thought that...would happen," Shuichi says. "I only set one of the charges. Not enough to collapse the building. The rest of the explosives are in my bag, which I dropped while being chased."

Tohma and I -both- raise an eyebrow. 

"That section of the building will burn... And, when the fire reaches my bag..."

Boom. I get it. I get it. "Let's get out of here." I grab Seguchi's arm and drape it around my shoulder as I pull him up. 

Shuichi staggers toward the door. "But, where? The second floor is burning. We're on the fourth." 

Seguchi finally speaks up. "The roof. The parking garage is close. We may be able to jump to it." 

I decide not to mention that Seguchi couldn't jump over a crack in the floor at the moment, and Shuichi isn't doing much better.

Nonetheless, we head toward the stairs.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

There's no fucking way. Just no fucking way.

"We can't jump that." The gulf between the two buildings has to be at least thirty feet. 

Shuichi winces as a breeze catches his wound. He lifts an arm to block the wind, and slowly leans forward to peer over the stone railing of NG's roof. "You know, Hiro, Fujisaki, and I jumped off a building for one of our videos, once. But, we had wires and stuff, so..."

"Could you be any -less- helpful, Shindou-san?" Tohma calls this out, in a surprisingly cheery manner, from against the base of NG's large television satellite, which is where I dumped him moments earlier. 

"Hey! I'm just thinking aloud, okay? All you gotta do is sit over there and quietly bleed, alright?"

"Perhaps you should do the same."

"...Surprised you even have blood, being heartless and all..."

"You should jump first, Shindou-san. Women and children, as they say..."

"What the fuck is that supposed to...?"

Is this really the best time for them to pick to have an argument? Nevermind. Nevermind. I'm the uninjured one. I'm the one who needs to find a way off this goddamn roof. I rush to the opposite railing. Nothing. Just a concrete alleyway four floors down. Shit.

And what is that strange buzzing noise?

As I stare down into the alleyway, I see Sakuma burst out of the building, followed by K. They're pursued by several Lampyridae agents. K shoots the first one, and then dives behind a trash bin as two more emerge. They head directly for K's location.

The battle which ensues takes only seconds, but I'm sure that to Sakuma and K, it seemed like hours. In the end, the Lampyridae agents recline in pools of their own blood. Sakuma turns to K, and bounces around excitedly, obviously chattering about their victory, though at this height I can't hear a word of it.

Mostly because of that strange buzzing, and the sudden wind. 

And that's when one of the Lampyridae agents Sakuma and K just felled lifts his arm, takes aim...

And shoots Sakuma.

I see Sakuma fall, and K drop his gun to run and catch him. 

"Fuck. Fuck fuck." It comes out of my mouth as I turn back toward Shuichi and Seguchi. It's... Not that I'm upset about Sakuma getting shot. It's just that... 

I always thought I'd be the one doing the shooting. Yeah, that's all. That's why I am clenching my teeth, and...

Why are Shuichi and Seguchi both staring at the sky?

I look up, and find the source of the buzzing noise. It's...a helicopter. A maroon helicopter with something painted on the side. I squint to make it out. "Sunoko Publishing".

Sunoko Publishing? But, why would they...? I mean, that's not even my publishing company. I'm with Looseleaf Japan...

Well, fuck me with a rock and call me an obelisk.

As the helicopter descends to the roof of NG, the door slides open to reveal my writing nemesis, Akasugi Naoko. He's holding a feather-bedecked hat to his head, so the chaotic wind created by the helicopter doesn't blow it away. His other hand flutters at me in such a faggoty fashion that I have to wonder if this bastard's balls have crawled back into his body and died. Akasugi pulls out a megaphone, flips it on, and calls out, "Yooo-hooo! Yuki Eiri-san, yoo-hoo! I do believe your building is on fire. Perhaps you should let Naoko-chan rescue you, hm?" 

That gap between NG and the parking garage was, what... Thirty feet? Surely, that's not as far as it seems.

But, both Seguchi and Shuichi, having (thankfully) absolutely no idea who this person is, look relieved.

There's no other choice, I guess.

As Shuichi stumbles toward the helicopter, and is pulled inside by one of Akasugi's people, I help Seguchi to his feet. With every step, his limping becomes more pronounced. I want to say something to him, something encouraging, maybe. Something that'll give him strength. But, all I can think about is getting off this damn roof before the building explodes.

When we get to the helicopter, I make them get Seguchi inside first. Once he's in the helicopter, I step forward to follow him, and see Shuichi kneeling there. He's holding out his hand to help pull me up.

I reach out to grab his hand...

Suddenly, a look of utter terror grips Shuichi's face.

"Yuki! Nooooo!"

Pain erupts in my body. Volcanic. Searing. Gratingly sharp. A half-dozen hands all grab me simultaneously to pull me into the helicopter. Akasugi and Seguchi are both screaming at the pilot to take off. Shuichi keeps yelling my name, even though he's pressed against me, holding onto me as if I were in danger of suddenly becoming incorporeal. 

As the helicopter lifts off the roof, Shuichi and I fall to the side, and I'm able to see out the still-open door. 

Leaking a spotty trail of blood, Sakano lurches across the roof, gun still in hand. He takes aim at the helicopter.

Was I...shot? Just now, was I...?

"Don't die, Yuki. Don't die, don't die, please don't die. Please don't die. Please, please..."

I watch as NG erupts into fire and smoke...

And with it, my ex-partner.

"Rule number eleven for writers and assassins," I croak amidst the din of shouting, "The good guys win. The bad guys die in a prosaically befitting manner."

No one hears a word I say. 

Shuichi clings to me. Is he trembling, or am I? Or is it just the damn helicopter? Suddenly, everything becomes quiet, and I can no longer hear the helicopter, or the shouting, or the sound of a building collapsing. I can only hear Shuichi's rhythmic plea, and it, too, is getting quieter and quieter.

"Don't die Yuki, don't die, please don't..."

Sorry, Shuichi. I guess this means...

I'm not one of the good guys.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Blue. That's what kind of nightmare this heaven is. Blue and blue and blue. Blue skies that canopy the entire world. Sparkling blue water that goes on and on and on, like it's fucking taunting you with relief from the sun. I fucking hate being outdoors. Why am I outdoors? I should be typing. I should be finishing my novel because the fucking deadline is in two weeks. Laying around on the beach is ridiculous waste of...

Oh. 

I remember now.

Half-naked. Wet. Shuichi.

He's still dripping wet when he walks up to stand beside me, casting a Shuichi-shaped shadow across my deck-chair. "Hey, uh... Yuki? You really shouldn't sleep out here. You're going to get sunburned and stuff."

"I'm not asleep." 

"Oh." Shuichi laughs, picks my beer up off the nearby table, and takes a sip. "Y'know, it's hard to tell when you wear those sunglasses, and all."

"It's too bright."

"Hm? Or is it that you don't like me knowing when you're watching me?"

"Nevermind. I -am- asleep."

Shuichi laughs a little more, and then hands me the beer. He crawls on top of me, still dripping fucking wet, and straddles my hips with his knees. He has that look in his eyes, that one where he knows I can't resist him, because who would? When he exhibits this kind of confidence, I'm his goddamn pawn. "Want me to wake you up, Yuki?"

"You're shameless." My throat is suddenly dry, but I remember that I'm holding a beer, so I chug it, and drop the bottle into the sand beside the deck chair. "And...wet." And I can't stop myself from resting my hand on his moist thigh. "But, you're good at blocking the sun."

"You should come swimming with me, Yuki. The water is so incredibly perfect. And really clear, so you can see fish and..."

"I don't swim."

Shuichi smiles and tilts his head to the side, exposing his ear. "Don't or can't? I bet you can't. Though, really, I wouldn't be too surprised if you could, just because you're cool like that, and... Yuki? What are you doing? Hey, don't do that! Stop it!"

I frown, and try to hold him in place. I swear, it's like trying to clip an animal's nails. They're so squirmy and fight you every step of the way, even though it is for their own goddamn good. "Stay still." I keep brushing his hair out of the way, and push myself into a sitting position so I can have a better look at his ear. I really need more arms for this task.

"Don't look at it, Yuki. I don't want you to. It's...ugly..."

Shuichi thinks they sewed his ear on crooked. Nowadays, he wears his hair in a way that'll cover that side. But, really, it's not so bad. The ear is straight. There are still some scars, but Seguchi's hand-picked plastic surgeon says that they'll have Shuichi looking as good as new by the end of the year. "It looks fine. But, pay attention to it while swimming. If your ear falls off in the ocean, I'm not going to help you look for it."

Shuichi giggles and puts his hand over his ear protectively. "Do you think it would?"

"Maybe."

Shuichi pouts, but only for a second. Then he throws his arms around my neck and plants kisses in the hollow beneath my ear. "Would you donate an ear to me, if I lost mine, Yuki?"

"Hell no." But, I'd probably kill someone Shuichi-sized and take one of theirs.

Shuichi squirms meaningfully in my lap. I think it may be time to quit the beach for our hotel room. On the other hand, the natives of this fair island seem to not particularly care what two lovers do on the beach, regardless of their genders. 

I slide my hands around his waist, tanned from weeks of outdoor play, and still slippery with sea water. His hair smells of ocean, of salt and kelp, and just a little bit of fish. 

"Yuki?"

"Yeah?"

Shuichi, that fucking tease, does something completely arousing with his tongue and my ear... Where does he learn this stuff? Really. It's unnatural.

"Would you still love me if I only had one ear?"

I pull Shuichi closer and kiss him. His lips are warm, sun-kissed. But, his tongue radiates a deeper heat. Maybe I should have always known that about Shuichi, about how he is, indeed, like a fire. Maybe I should have realized that those precious walls I built up around myself so long ago were made of ice. The chemistry is simple. I never stood a chance.

"Don't be stupid."

Of course I would, Shuichi. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It turns out that I was right about Sakano. His aim is extremely bad. It was later discovered that the bullet ricocheted off of part of the helicopter, which is why I ended up bleeding from the front, instead of the back. Akasugi, who was using the company helicopter to get to a book signing in Osaka, cancelled his appointment (how nice), and transported us all to the hospital while NG burned to the ground.

It took them hardly any time to get Shuichi's ear fixed. Seguchi immediately shoved him in front of television cameras to play PR lackey.  
Officially, NG was attacked by international terrorists who were planning on using it as a base of operations for their attack on the government building across the street. 

International terrorists. Heh.

It was such a ridiculous load of hogwash that -everyone- believed it without question. 

Of course, we were all media darlings for sacrificing ourselves and the NG building in order to protect Japan. Wild stories of our heroic exploits circulated in the tabloids. Apparently, Seguchi is secretly a fifth generation kenjutsu master. Shuichi knows how to make a taser out of an electric pencil sharpener and several old 8-track cassette tapes. And I've devised sixty-seven ways to incapacitate a man using an antique letter-opener.

Alright, so that last one...is fairly close to being true.

Seguchi's leg didn't fare quite as well as Shuichi's ear. They took the bullet out, but Seguchi still walks with a mild limp. Still, better a limp than the alternative. Plus, it gives him plenty of opportunities to buy walking-canes that look gaudier than most Fabrige eggs. It really completes the whole 1980s "pimp look" he seems to be cultivating.

Sakuma, also, managed a fairly short hospital stay, and then he proceeded to attempt to annoy me for the rest of mine. I swear I couldn't go three hours without overhearing him tell someone -else- about how he had been shot "directly in the bunny-phone". Yes. The archaic phone stopped the bullet. Sakuma is the entire reason they coined the phrase "dumb luck.  
However, Sakuma did receive a few minor wounds from phone-shrapnel, which he delighted in showing to any passing cameraman or journalist.

As for Akasugi... Well, about the fourth time he came to my hospital room to attempt to seduce me, Shuichi got fed up. From what Seguchi told me, the two had a showdown in the hospital parking garage which culminated in Shuichi lighting Akasugi's hair on fire with a makeshift hairspray blowtorch. Since then, I haven't seen Akasugi, or even heard word one about him publishing a new novel.

Still, I think there's more to that story. Yes, something about the way Tohma smiles while telling it...which makes me think there is -definitely- more to that story.

Seguchi wouldn't kill a guy just for annoying me, would he? 

Nah.

Anyway, I also haven't seen Tungesh again. Some old Japanese man with a bad cough and bifocals took over the newsstand. He doesn't know the first thing about books. But, it is funny to watch Shuichi flip out every time the old guy refers to him as "nee-chan".

During my hospital stay, however, a gift basket of books by my favorite authors showed up one morning. The card said only to enjoy, and that he'll keep an eye out for my name on the bestseller lists.

Heh.

In addition, after Mizuki apologized profusely for her conspiratory luncheon with Akasugi, we were on speaking terms again. Apparently, he'd contacted her in an attempt to seduce her to quit Looseleaf and come to work for Sunako. She turned him down. 

And as for "Tangerine"? 

It did spectacularly. 

They're making it into a video game -and- a movie.

Everyone in Japan seems to have read it.

Well, everyone except Shuichi.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Well fuck me raw and call me Kiki."

"I already did. So, hand me a cigarette, Kiki." 

Shuichi grunts and rolls to the side to grab my cigarettes. 

The cool breeze coming off the ocean causes the curtains of our hotel room to billow repeatedly, as if undulating ghosts keep blowing in from the beach. We're twisted up in the fine Egyptian cotton sheets of our island bungalow bed, listening to the waves, the tropical birds, and the tinny sound of a half-tuned radio in the corner which is alternately playing native music and international static. 

As far as I know, there is no brand of alcohol which matches the intoxicating power of the smell of sex mixed with ocean air. My muscles have become putty, and try as I might to conjure my list of worries and annoyances, I can't seem to remember a single one.

Shuichi sticks a cigarette between my lips, and lights it for me. 

We have Seguchi to thank for this extended vacation. It seems that NG had insurance, a suspicious amount of insurance, covering acts of terrorism as well as fire. Seguchi prepares for everything, I guess. He had plenty of money to rebuild NG twice over. So, quite magnanimously, he sent Shuichi and I on a six-month "mental health" vacation.

Okay, maybe I -did- mention that I needed to get the fuck away from the press, and Tokyo in general. I saved the man's life. It's the least he could do, right?

The phone rings while Shuichi is tonguing one of my nipples. The effort needed to lift my arm is excruciating. I almost knock the damn thing off the nightstand before picking it up. "Yeah?"

"Señor Shoe-chi? Are you finished the carnal pleasuring of Señor Yookey?"

I hand the phone to Shuichi.

We weren't that loud, were we?

I listen to Shuichi stumble over his English as he talks to Lopez, the proprietor of a local bar. Shuichi sings there some nights. Not that anyone knows who he is, or even understands a word of Japanese. They just like varied acts, it seems. Lopez also employs a woman who sings off-key Italian arias and a one-armed bongo drummer. 

Shuichi hands back the phone after a minute, and I attempt, with some Difficulty, to put it back into place. "Singing tonight?"

"No. Lopez is closing the bar to go see his sister's new baby. It's just me and you tonight." Shuichi shrugs. "Wanna build a campfire on the beach?"

"Is that an excuse for you to play with fire?"

Shuichi laughs, and I find myself smiling a little, too. He holds up his hands in mock innocence and exclaims, "No. I'm retired, I promise. No more assassin stuff for me."

I grab his wrists, and kiss the palms of his hands. It's time to live the fantasy. Time to be the person that Shuichi believes I can be. Even though I am a novelist, I know that nobody ever lives "happily ever after". But, right now, I think I will be happier than most. Because I've found my absolution, my redemption, my long lost humanity. Or rather, he found me.

"Yeah, retired," I murmur, as I drag Shuichi back down into bed with me. "Me too."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

THE END.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note: Well, this one is finished, and I'm so glad. I was thinking about an unhappy ending, obviously, but I think the characters just went through too much not to end it on an up note. 

For me, the whole point of writing this story was to mesh all sorts of askew plot points in a confusing, ever more paranoid tale. One where you don't know who to trust, and who not to trust. Even some of the things said by the person telling the story are suspect. At the same time, I wanted to inject humor into the story, so that it never got –too- dark. 

There is also a simple idea running through the story, which it something I truly believe. That all humans are capable of being monsters, and all humans are capable of being saints. And sometimes they are both at the same time. I think that is the central theme of a great many religions, and it is obviously something that is very provocative to the human race. 

There's also the idea that we are who we display to the world, and we are also the person behind the mask. When this is mixed with the previous idea, I think people begin to have so many identities within themselves that they lose track – not so much of who they –are-, but who they want to be.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I started off with a lot of different things in mind for this fanfic, but I don't really think I actually achieved any of them. A lot of that is because of how early I lost interest in the project, but I think also that my design was too elaborate and would have been better without some of the red-herrings. But, I hope the story was a nonetheless enjoyable read on a more superficial level, something that is fun and mildly sensational, even if it is altogether pointless on other levels. I did enjoy writing it, mostly, and I think I learned a lot from the experiment (I hope)!

I also have to apologize profusely to Sakano fans. I really hated to pervert Sakano, but in the end, -someone- had to be the secret nefarious evil pulling all the strings. Plus, how often does Sakano get to be the uber-bad-guy? Again, again, my apologies.

Well, thanks to everyone who read this strange story and kept me going with your words of encouragement. I really appreciate it, and I am glad you stuck with me despite how long it took me to finish the story. Thanks again. 


End file.
